


This Is Not The End

by NotAsSweetasASweetPotato



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Brain tumor, Cancer, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Happy birthday Naruto, Hospital, M/M, SasuNaru - Freeform, Sexual Tension, but I got attached, originally a one-shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-01-15 21:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotAsSweetasASweetPotato/pseuds/NotAsSweetasASweetPotato
Summary: On Dr. Naruto Uzumaki's birthday, he has an appointment scheduled with one of the best oncologists at Konoha Hospital, Dr. Sasuke Uchiha, for the strange symptoms he's been experiencing lately.





	1. Diagnosis

**Author's Note:**

> Happy October 10th, you guys! To celebrate Naruto's birthday, I've written a decent-sized, angst-filled one-shot with a happy ending. I hope you like it! ^-^
> 
> Recommended Song: J Views - Don't Pull Away feat. Milosh
> 
> ***Note 12/31/17***  
> Please be aware that I do not think cancer or tumors, or any mental or physical illness is something to be romanticized. They're not. They never will be. Cancer isn't some beautiful sickness one gets that makes them realize how wonderful life is or some shit. It's a soul-sucking, godawful, shit show of an illness that is hell to live through. So I will do my best to make sure this story doesn't glorify the symptoms of having a brain tumor or the recovery from having one removed. With the knowledge I've gained as a neuroscience major, medical websites, journals, and online testimonies from cancer survivors, I will try to write this story as accurately as possible.

The university’s main hospital is more grand than it's sister specialty hospital located fifteen miles away; Konoha Hospital’s building structure reminds me of a celebrity’s mansion rather than a place for the ill. With it’s white marble floors, grey and gold-accented walls, and glass staircases, this place seems like a high-end fashion mall, and as a psychiatrist from Suna Specialty, the sister hospital, I can’t help but feel envious of this location’s superior achitectural design. Maybe I should have filled out an application to work here after I finished my post-med school residency instead. Plus, fancy interior aside, Konoha doctors get paid far more than Suna’s. While I make close to one hundred thousand dollars a year before taxes at Suna, a psychiatrist at Konoha makes damn near double that. Sakura, one of my best friends from college, was a psychiatrist at Konoha for the longest time. She was the best psychiatrist the hospital had ever seen, and she made a little more than three hundred thousand dollars a year because of it. When her husband killed himself, however, Sakura decided to quit her job. She took a shocking amount of money from her savings to move to a vacation home in New Zealand where she hoped to find herself again. I haven’t heard from her in two months.

I sigh to myself and finger the mouth hole on the lid to my cup of coffee. The steam from my caramel macchiato wets my finger tip, but I can hardly feel it. My sense of touch has been dulled lately. When I go to pet my brother’s dog, instead of feeling plush, soft fur, I feel nothing. The first few times I realized my touch perception was off, I thought nothing of it. After you work a few twelve hour shifts, you’re bound to feel a little dead inside and not perceive the world as you normally would. But when I noticed I was having exceptional fatigue, dry skin, muscle weakness, migraines, _and_ screwed up touch perception, I decided it was time to schedule an appointment with a doctor here at Konoha.

My hopes were set on having a neurological exam with Dr. Hinata Hyuuga. She’s one of Konoha’s newer neurologists, and she has the smile of an angel. She’s also a sight for sore eyes with her pastel purple hair, kind expressions, and visible tattoos. Konoha has a history of hiring doctors that fit a certain, boring look. Hinata is the only exception, and I couldn’t wait to meet her in person one-on-one. As my luck would have it, though, Dr. Hyuuga was out on sick leave for every day of this week, and no, the doctors at Konoha would not approve of me waiting another week so that I could await for her to return. So what unlucky bastard gets stuck with me as their patient today? Dr. Uchiha. 

From the little I know of him, Dr. Uchiha has been working at Konoha for as long as I’ve been working at Suna. He graduated from Konoha University, just like I did, so I can only assume that he is around my age, and maybe he was a part of my graduating class. 

He's a general oncologist, though, which stresses me out because, usually, I wouldn't see an oncologist until after a neurologist did my neurological exam and determined that I might possibly have cancerous tissue somewhere in my body. From there, an oncologist would have to do their own testing to determine if I do, in fact, have cancer. However, the Konoha appointment schedulers, being the douche bags they are, decided it was a good idea to have me skip seeing a neurologist and go straight to an oncologist instead. The nerve of some people. 

Finally removing my slightly warmed finger from my coffee’s mouth hole, I bring the drink to my lips and take a tiny sip. Am I nervous about this neurological exam? You betcha. If I don’t pass it, and almost everyone passes it, then there’s going to be a forty percent chance that I have cancer. Forty percent may not sound like a lot, but when you think of how large undergraduate universities with a forty percent acceptance rate are, forty percent suddenly makes you sweat. 

I take another small sip of my drink and make sure to swallow carefully. This might sound strange, but I’ve been having trouble swallowing along with all the other strange conditions I’ve been experiencing within the past eight weeks. After tough days at work, I'll be shoving fast food into my mouth, and when I start to swallow, I get this odd choking sensation, as if I'm trying to fit a whole hamburger down my esophagus and not chewed up french fries that are the consistency of baby food.

The first time this happened was about six weeks ago. I was with Kiba and we were on our way to the beach. He'd been feeling down, and I thought to myself, _What better way to cheer him up than to take a road trip with him down to the Tampa bay in Florida?_ We had bought a pizza (yes, we were eating a whole ass pizza in the car) and just when I thought I was about to enjoy a hot, savory bite of meat lover's, my throat closed up and told me to think again. 

“Naruto Uzumaki,” a nurse calls from the front of the waiting room. My head snaps up and I see a slim nurse with long gray-black hair and a clipboard tucked under her arm waiting for me. My heart aches just a bit because her large eyes and tough smile remind me of Sakura. I have to force my feelings under a rug so I can stop staring and go to her. Then, as I walk, I have to pay close attention to my legs. Walking comes naturally to everyone over the age of three, but for me, as of late, I’ve got to be extra self-conscious; I have to tell myself to move my legs sometimes or else they just won't move.

The nurse gives me a huge smile, showing off two rows of perfect white teeth when I reach her, and for a moment, I'm stunned. What’s she doing here? This woman could be a model! “Hi, I’m Kurotsuchi," she says, "I’ll be your nurse today. How are you feeling?”

"I'm alright," I claim as I try my best to grin back at her. It’s not like me to be standoffish or shy around other people, especially not around girls. I’m not feeling like myself, though. I'm nervous and tired, and I just want to get this over with, so smiling is harder than it should be. Kurotsuchi's smile shifts and she looks away from me for a moment, as if she's said something embarrassing, as if she's regretful. 

I tell myself not to think about it too much and to instead focus on keeping up with her as she leads me from the waiting room to the examination room. 

We're inside the examination room in less than a minute, and Kurotsuchi gestures for me to have a seat. When I hesitate, her face crumbles in concern. "Is something wrong?" 

“Nah, I’m just really tired. Didn’t get home until one in the morning,” I tell her as I choose to sit in the little green chair beside the examination bed. I refuse to sit in that bed right now. I refuse to make myself look any more sick than I imagine I already do. 

“Hmm,” Kurotsuchi hums to herself. She flips through a few pages on her chart before she finds the page she’s looking for. “Aha! I’m going to need you to fill this out for me, please. It’s just a questionnaire of your symptoms. It’ll help save your and Dr. Uchiha’s time.” She opens her clipboard, pulls the paper out of it, and hands the paper to me. “Plus, I’m sure you’ve gone over these symptoms with other doctors hundreds of times before, right? So, for you, this should be a piece of cake!”

I laugh nervously, taking the paper. “Um, no, actually.” Kurotsuchi’s eyebrows shoot up. “This is my first time coming to the hospital about my, uh, symptoms.”

Her face lights up in surprise. She gives me a careful once-over, frowning as she does. I try to ignore her by combing the symptoms paper, but my eyes freeze on the header of the sheet. _Common Brain Cancer Symptoms_ , the form reads. _Resources listed on the back._

Kurotsuchi walks up beside me and places her hand delicately on my wrist. When I glance over to her, she’s smiling sadly, and I can finally recognize the shift in her smile from earlier. She wasn't embarrassed, she was sorry. For me. 

I cringe away from her touch, but she's already moving away, so she doesn't notice. “You can take a photo of the resources page if you need to,” she suggests in a soft voice. “There’s a really good support group listed. I think you’ll do good there.”

“I don’t have cancer,” I bite out. “I’m only here for a neurological exam. Not for chemotherapy or something like that.”

Kurotsuchi’s smile turns even more sympathetic. “I know, sweetie, I know,” she says, stepping away. “Please fill out that form for me, okay? While you do that, I’ll ask you a few questions.”

I take a deep breath. More than anything, I want to leave this examination room, leave this hospital, and never come back. I haven’t felt this afraid of being in a hospital since the prostate exam I had to do in high school. But I don’t want to make myself look like a non-compliant ass in front of this nurse while she’s trying so hard to be as nice to and supportive of me as she can.

With another shaky breath, I reach for the pen resting on the counter to my right. The pen rests close to a diagram of a vagina, and I find it funny that this pen's closer to a fake pussy than I’ve been to a real one in years. This secret joke makes me feel minutely more at ease, and so I take the pen and begin awkwardly filling out the questionnaire on my lap. I chastise Kurotsuchi in my head for not being sympathetic enough to give me a clipboard or something hard to write on. 

The first symptom given on the list is seizures. Okay, I definitely haven’t had any seizures, so I guess I’m okay. Next is drowsiness. I ignore this symptom because as one of only three psychiatrists at Suna, I am _always_ tired. Then we get to blurred vision, difficulty swallowing, and difficulty walking. My vision only blurs when I’m about to pass out from sheer exhaustion, so that doesn’t apply to me either. But difficulty swallowing? My eyes slowly find my damn caramel macchiato. It sits beside my foot, and I’m tempted to kick it over. Instead, I angrily move my foot away from it. Insolent coffee. I put a check next to difficulty swallowing on the list.

Then there’s difficulty walking. Yup. I have to put a check next to that, too. Walking in a straight line has gotten harder for me this past week, which is really the true reason why I'm here. Difficulty balancing? That’s another symptom I’ve experienced as well. By the time I reach the end of a questionnaire, I’ve broken out in a cold sweat and have trouble breathing like a normal person. If I don’t get some fresh air soon, I’m going to start hyperventilating. There’s no way I can have cancer. Brain cancer at that. I have fifty-nine patients who depend on me to make sure they’re prescribed the right medications and to make sure their treatment plans are personalized for them. I have other psychiatrists who rely on me to do a good job of taking care of my patients so they don't complain and switch to another doctor, and the other psychiatrists rely on me to occasionally give them advice on how to help patients of their own. I have a loving mom and dad who would be lost without me. I’m their only child. They didn’t take out loans for my undergraduate degree and then more loans for me to go to medical school for this to happen. Then there’s my best friend, Kiba. I call him my brother because he’s so much more than a best friend to me. Who’s going to watch Akamaru when he’s on business trips? Who’s going to talk him down from his occasional suicidal hysteria? Who’s going to remind him to stay away from marijuana and cocaine? 

I can’t believe this is happening to me. Out of forty-five listed symptoms, I checked off twenty-three of them. What percent is that? Fifty-one, right? My breaths come in faster. There’s a fifty one percent chance that I have brain cancer? What does that even mean? What am I supposed to do? What’s going to happen to my patients, my coworkers, and my family if something happens to me?

Someone lets out a strangled sob in the silent room and I, realizing that someone had to have been me, bury my face in my hands while the questionnaire flutters to the floor.

There has to be a mistake. All of this is wrong. It has to be. 

I’m mildly aware of a conversation taking place in the room. Someone else has come in. When I lift my head up, I can just barely make out Kurotsuchi leaving. Pathetically, I think that at least it’s tears blurring my vision and not a wonky symptom from a fucking tumor in my brain. And then a heavy hand slaps down on my shoulder and burns like a paintball shot from two feet away. 

“Fuck!” I shout, jumping up from my chair and knocking over that stupid macchiato. I step in milky brown coffee and whirl around on my attacker. “Who--” _Oh_. The person standing before me is tall, about two or three centimeters taller than me, and wearing a nice-fitting white coat. Beneath his coat, he wears a black polo and black slacks that contrast with the pale skin of his ankles in a way that raises my blood pressure. He’s also wearing navy blue loafers which don’t really match his outfit and which make me wonder if he got ready in a rush today, too.

I relax as my eyes scan up his lean chest and to his face. I’m being glared at by round, black eyes. Thick black eyebrows are furrowed, and the doctor's sharp nose is scrunched. Neat, chin-length black hair has been pulled into a sprout at the back of the doctor’s head. His sprout can’t be called a bun because there isn’t enough hair for that. 

“Mr. Uzumaki,” Dr. Uchiha huffs, obviously annoyed. “Can you relax please? Or will I have to have you escorted out of here by security?”

I scowl right back at the prick. “It’s _Dr._ Uzumaki to you,” I grumble. “And no, I _can’t_ relax because your stupid questionnaire has got me thinking I have brain cancer!”

Dr. Uchiha inhales long and slow before he exhales even longer and slower. He folds his arms across his chest and his expression softens. He looks less ticked off and more bored now. “Please be assured that the symptoms given on that questionnaire correlate with many more less severe diseases and disorders. For example, ten of the symptoms listed on my questionnaire correlate with symptoms one might experience if they have clinical depression. Unless you marked that you experience _all_ of the given symptoms on the list, it is very unlikely that you have brain cancer. Now, can we clean up your little spill and move on with the rest of your exam, Dr. Uzumaki?”

I hesitate for a second, wanting to glare at this guy a little longer. But eventually I give in with a long sigh. Fine. “Yeah. Where do you keep paper--Oh.” The paper towels are hanging right above the vagina diagram. How lovely. As I grab a few of the towels and then bend to wipe up my mess, I peek up at Dr. Uchiha. “Why do you have that in here if you’re not an OB-GYN?” I ask, nodding my head towards the obscene diagram. 

Dr. Uchiha’s lower lip twitches. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was close to smiling. As it turns out, the lip twitch was just a precursor to his full-blown disgust. “Cervical cancer is a thing, Dr. Uzumaki. Please don’t tell me you only got Cs in medical school.” He stares at me critically. “Well, that would explain why they accepted you to work at Suna, but not here.”

“Hey!” I cry, jumping up and pointing sodden paper towels at him. “Don’t insult Suna like that! Some of us over there were the best in our class--”

“But you weren’t,” Dr. Uchiha quickly intervenes. A strange light reminiscent of one you'd see in the eyes of mad man garnering amusement from a cruel deed dances in Sasuke's own eyes now. 

“And how would you know?” I demand, throwing the paper towels away with such a force that I make the plastic trash can shake.

Dr. Uchiha grins at me, sharp and feral. "I know because _I_ was the valedictorian of your class.”

My stomach drops. So we were in the same graduating class. Fuck me. “But...how do you know me then? If you were first in our class, you probably had no time to socialize. Also, how do you know I work at Suna?”

He shrugs, picking up the chart he’d sat down on the counter beside me. He then bends over to pick up my abandoned questionnaire. Even after he’s grabbed it, though, he continues to stand to my right, a little too close to me to be comfortable. I want to scoot away from him, but honestly, he’s not hurting me by standing this close. His presence is actually a little comforting. It’s got to be his cologne. What brand is that? Prada? No, it’s smells more like Guilty by Gucci. I swallow, without much thought this time, and wait for Dr. Uchiha to finish reviewing my questionnaire. 

When I sneak another glance over at him, I notice his brows are furrowing, but differently than they were earlier. He looks worried now, instead of angry. “Dr. Uzumaki,” he begins. His voice trembles a little when he asks, “How long have these symptoms been going on?”

I fix my eyes on Dr. Uchiha’s loafers. “Maybe eight or seven weeks…” 

He tsks. “You should have come in sooner.”

I wince. “I’ve been busy. Suna only has three psychiatrists, you know? Our hands are so full that we work on our off days, and we barely get any time to ourselves. How could I have come in with work circumstances like that?”

Dr. Uchiha frowns, showing clear disapproval. “Dr. Uzumaki, your health comes before your job. Actually, your health comes before anything else. How do you expect to be a good psychiatrist to your patients if you don’t take care of yourself?”

I flush with chagrin. He’s right. I’m dead wrong to tell my patients they need to take care of themselves by prioritizing their health when I refuse to do the same. 

Dr. Uchiha sighs. “Well, I suppose that’s neither here nor there now. Let’s proceed with your exam. I’m going to ask you to do a series of tasks for me, and I would like you to take them seriously and try to do them to the best of your ability, okay?”

I nod and shove my hands into my pockets. Standing for this long has worn me out already, but I'll be damned if I sit and act like I can't handle a simple exam. “Okay.”

“For this first task, I’d like you to remain standing and stare straight ahead still while I flash my pocket light into your eyes.” 

I nod again, but I shudder when Dr. Uchiha steps closer to me. He has a strong presence, moves like someone of importance who _knows_ they're of importance. He removes a small flashlight from the chest pocket of his coat, and just like he said he would, he flashes the thing into my eyes. The light is gone just as soon as it came. 

“Your pupils contract in direct light. Good.”

Next, Dr. Uchiha has me walk in a straight line. This is a bit hard for me, but I do it without tripping over myself or stepping out of line. Uchiha is frowning, but he says I did good. We move on to other minor tasks. He tests me on my abstract thinking (he asks me “what does it mean to look before you leap?” and similar philosophical questions), and then he tests my memory and my hearing. Towards the end of my neurological exam, Dr. Uchiha steps directly into my personal space and places his hand around my throat. 

I freeze, locking my eyes with his. He looks alarmed that I’m making direct eye contact with him and blushes. “Dr. Uzumaki…” He doesn’t even finish his question. Rather, he composes himself and rubs his thumb along the front of my throat. “Could you swallow for me please? I need to test your reflex.” 

Way to almost give a man an erection. I swallow a few times just like he asks me to. He makes a face while he examines my throat. And then he’s sitting his clipboard down and feeling all over my neck with both his hands. He’s not wearing gloves, and his hand are very warm, and all of a sudden this part of the exam feels way more sexual than it should. 

A few minutes in and I can’t take this anymore. “Dr. Uchiha. Is there something wrong?”

He stills...then he slowly he removes his hands from my throat. “Yes. There is actually.”

My stomach plummets. 

“Let’s move on to the physical portion of your exam first. What I think could be wrong might prove to just be a fluke on my end.”

My eyes are blown wide and I don’t have it in me to argue or to ask him to elaborate. Dr. Uchiha gestures for me to follow him as he leaves the examination room, and I follow him without missing a beat. We walk out into the hallway where there are thank you cards and children’s drawings plastered all over the walls. A little way down the hallway, we run into a large, medical scale, the kind you see in the eating disorder wing of Suna. 

“Can you remove your shoes and step onto the scale for me, please?” Dr. Uchiha asks. He’s got his hands casually resting in his pockets. His posture screams calm and composed. But his brows are still furrowed and he looks unbelievably worried. My dad used to do that, put his hands in his pockets and frown, during my parent-teacher conferences in elementary school. 

“S-Sure,” I say, kicking off my old Nike running shoes before I step onto the scale.

“Wait,” Dr. Uchiha says quickly, placing a hand on my shoulder again. He gently pushes on my shoulder until I turn around so that my back is to the number on the scale.

“You’re really starting to freak me out,” I warn him. 

He shakes his head as if to say " _not now_ " while worrying his lower lip. We both wait for the scale to calibrate my weight. And then it beeps. Dr. Uchiha inhales sharply. “Naruto,” he hisses, making a chill sprint up my spine. Why is he calling me by my first name? I didn’t give him permission for that. And why does he sound so mad? “When was the last time you weighed yourself?”

I hurry off the scale and slip my shoes back on. “Um, like a month ago. Why?” 

I have a bad feeling about this. He's going to tell me that I'm underweight, that everything adds up now. I need to get out of here, I really fucking need to get out of here.

“Can you tell me what your weight was?” Sasuke won't give me a break, follows me as I try to walk back to the examination room alone.

I feel like crying all of a sudden. “One hundred and sixty-five pounds,” I bark out like a wounded dog.

Dr. Uchiha nods seriously, his eyes wide and wary. “And do you know your current weight?”

I shake my head slowly, coming to a stop only because I'm out of breath. “One hundred...One hundred sixty-five…?”

Sasuke steps in front of me and then places his hands on my shoulders, piercing me with concern I don't want to see. “Dr. Uzumaki, you weigh one hundred forty pounds.” 

Words can’t describe the shock I feel. The world seems to stop spinning. I weigh one hundred and forty pounds now. That can’t be right. How have I lost twenty-five pounds in one month? I don’t exercise anymore; I don’t have time. Yet, I eat like a football player during football season. I should have gained twenty-five pounds, not lost that much weight. 

“Dr. Uzumaki, I’d like to do an emergency MRI scan with your permission,” Dr. Uchiha is saying. "MRI's are better at static brain imaging and detecting tumors than other imaging technology." I think he says something else. I think he removes his hand from my shoulder as if he's just now realizing how unprofessional he's being. Not that I think I mind.

When Uchiha places a hand on my back, at first it feels like he's being comforting, and so I try to focus on that, on the warmth of his hand there. But then he gives me a small push forward, tries to guide my back to the examination room, and ringing fills my ears. I'm too numb to stop him, a hare frozen in the face of a predator. My feet drag and my knees shake, threatening to buckle. I find myself hyper-focusing on a bright pink brain pillow resting beside an iPad at the nurse's station, and when I miss a step, I end up bumping into a nurse and then a wall. 

“Naruto!” Doctor Uchiha shouts, alarmed. He grabs me by my bicep and helps me right myself before he starts to apologize to the nurse. 

As I resurface from the fear that almost drowned me, I become belligerent, defensive. “Don’t call me by my first name!” I scream. I take a clumsy step forward just to shove at the idiot. “I don’t care if you were in my graduating class! You don’t know me! I don’t even know your first name for God’s sake!”

There’s hushed speaking all around us, and then a woman from behind, presumably nurse Kurotsuchi, asks, “Dr. Uchiha. Would you like for me to call security?” Her voice is meek, and I can tell she means well. I feel bad when Dr. Uchiha whirls on her, and when the man scowls at Kurotsuchi, I have to will myself not to cringe from second-hand burn. 

“ _No, Linda._ I’d like for you and your friends to get back to doing your jobs,” he snaps. 

Well, shit. Linda Kurotsuchi says something quick and apologetic to Dr. Uchiha before she leaves us be. With the sight of her retreating head, I feel my anger retreating as well only for exhaustion to takes its place. 

“Dr. Uzumaki, if you will,” Dr. Uchiha says, gesturing impatiently towards the examination room.

I step quickly into the room and wait for Dr. Uchiha to close the door behind us. 

We stare at each other for a moment. 

“About that MRI...It would be unethical for me to allow you to go home without getting one done today. Based off the severity of your symptoms, it is in your best interest to allow our radiologists to make sure you don’t have a brain tumor.”

Well, shit. I’m weak and several kinds of hurt and embarrassed as I climb onto the examination bed. The paper sheet ruffles and tears beneath me. When I first got here, all I wanted to do was leave. I'm so emotionally worn out now that all I want to do is lay down on this bed for sick people. I feel so defeated. Before I can back out of this...“Sure,” I choke out. “I’ll do the stupid MRI.”

There’s silence in the room for a long beat. I stare down into my lap, taking in the folds of my pants. If I'd known I was going to be in this hospital longer than twenty minutes, I would have taken the extra time to iron them before I left home. This isn't going to make any sense, but I feel dirty. I feel like I've just fallen from a tree that took me ages to climb right into a pool of mud, blood, and other fluids people tend to have natural aversions to. And this dirty feeling...I doubt it's going to go away with a shower or two. I'm going to be stuck with it until this cancer scare is resolved. If that's what it is, a scare. 

“My name’s Sasuke,” Dr. Uchiha whispers. My eyes shoot up. “I don't remember seeing you much in college except for at graduation. You wouldn't stop running around with your arms behind your back like an idiot. But people laughed with you. I even laughed, I think. And then you were in my residency program. You fucked several others residents in the call room. I know because the girls and boys you chose couldn't keep their mouths shut for a million dollars. But I think most of my memories of you came from pediatric week towards the end of our first year as residents. You could make everyone smile, the kids and their parents. You shined. I was so jealous of you that I decided I’d never work with children ever again. But now I’m mostly an oncologist for people under the age of eighteen….”

My heart is beating so fast I think I’m going to have to check off another symptom on that list. Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha. His name rings a bell now, a loud, aggravating bell. Images of a punctual, perfectionist prick fill my mind. I remember Sasuke hardly ever slept in the residency dorms. He slept in the library most weekdays because he studied so hard. Rumor had it, there was a room kept there just for him. And he was the favorite student of all the doctors who participated in our program. And so many girls and even guys were deeply infatuated with him. He was Dr. Hatake's go-to residency student when he performed vascular surgery. Sasuke.  


“I fainted once during a mock surgery and you gave me a banana when I woke up. I remember you,” I say. A grin spreads across my face, and for a moment, it’s mirrored on Sasuke’s. 

“Good,” he whispers. He sounds so broken, though. Or am I misinterpreting what's really boredom? 

He whispered good...How he said it doesn't matter that much anymore because just that one word, good, reminds me of something else about him. I flashback to our second month in residency. Sasuke had just finished assisting Dr. Hatake in the operating room. As they walked together down the main corridor of the ICU, they passed Dr. Guy and I. 

"You did good," Dr. Hatake quipped. 

Like a child who was just handed a sucker, but who didn't know what for, Sasuke asked, "Good?" 

His tone of voice caught my attention. I damn near shushed Dr. Guy because I thought Sasuke was questioning Dr. Hatake, was about to say something bratty like ' _good? Don't you mean great?_ ' and make Dr. Hatake have no choice but to find a new pet assistant. To my surprise, though, Sasuke didn't look indignant at the compliment, but stunned. 

In the present, Dr. Uchiha is saying something. "Let me see if I can steal a radiologist real quick. I’ll see you in..” He trails off as his eyes find the nearest clock. “I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes. Keep yourself busy. Don’t fall asleep on me.” He hesitates before he gives me a shy wink as he leaves the room. The wink is out of place, must come more from a place of reassurance than flirtatiousness, and yet my heart still catches on fire. 

I wait for him to return patiently enough. Every now and then, my eyes wander to the vagina diagram. I can't help but to feel it's judging me. 

When Sasuke returns to the room, exactly fifteen minutes later, he’s accompanied by a lanky kid who looks no older than nineteen. “Dr. Uzumaki, this is Konohamaru. He’s one of the best diagnostic radiologists from his department. He’ll be helping out with your MRI today.”

Konohamaru wears a white lab coat, a brown sweater with khaki shorts, and black Crocs. Even with his chestnut brown hair fluffed and tousled in a way that screams, “I’m ready to have sex, ladies,” he looks like the nerdiest nerd of all times. Konohamaru gives me a once-over before he comes over and extends his hand out to me. “Nice to meet you,” he says in a squeaky voice. Poor thing.

“Nice to meet you,” I repeat as I shake his hand. And with that, Sasuke and I follow Konohamaru to a whole other part of the hospital for my MRI. 

 

***

 

The MRI machine is large, off-white, and looks clumsy. I’m instructed to lie flat on my back, to stay alert and awake, and to move as little as possible. I do as I'm told, but I'm terrified. The thing looks like it’ll collapse at any second. Is this really a high tech brain imaging machine for Konoha hospital? It looks like it belongs on set for a horror movie, not at one of the best hospitals in the country.

“Relax, Naruto,” Sasuke says. He pats me on my back for good measure. I have half a mind to tell him to stop touching me. Mainly because it’s weird, but also because his touch does something to me, and I don’t want to be turned on in this large death machine. 

While the radiologist techs move equipment around and prepare to do my scans, I stop Sasuke before he can leave the room. “You’ll be right outside?” Because once the machine turns on, no one is allowed to be in close vicinity to it unless they’re wearing special gear. I don’t know why Sasuke’s position really matters to me. It’s not like he can save me if the machine explodes or collapses. It’s not like I really know him. 

He offers me a reassuring smile as he steps away from me. “Yep. I’ll be watching you right through that window." He nods at the viewing window on the other side of the room. "If anything happens, I’ll be here in seconds.”

“Thanks,” I tell him shakily as I finally lower myself onto the MRI bed. 

“There’s no need to thank me. You’re my patient now. I have you under my care.”

I nod, and he steps away. Konohamaru waves at some of the techs, tells them to make sure I’m positioned on the bed properly. Once I'm in the right position, they bring a small syringe over and one of the techs injects gadolinium, an intravenous contrast that's supposed to make the MRI's imaging clearer, into a vein in the crook of my arm. The needle breaks through my skin with a barely detectable pinch, but the gadolinium is cold and uncomfortable as it enters my blood stream. 

Konohamaru makes the techs wait a while before they turn on the MRI machine the bed slides into it.

A low thrumming sounds all around me, and a dull vibration gently shakes the MRI bed. My heart races, but I remember Sasuke is waiting for me not ten feet away, and I relax. The procedure is painless, but loud, and fifty minutes later, the machine is turned off, and I’m pulled out from it. Just like he promised, Sasuke is back in the room and by my side. He doesn’t look relieved or happy to see me, though. Instead, he looks like someone’s stabbed him in the hand.

“C’mon, Naruto,” he mumbles, helping me up from the bed. 

I’m afraid to ask him what’s wrong. Also, my legs feel like weak noodles, so standing up takes longer than it should. Konohamaru enters the room and wears the exact same pained expression as Sasuke. “Should we tell him now?” Konohamaru asks, never taking his eyes off mine.

I look away from Konohamaru, terrified, and find Sasuke’s darker, rounder eyes instead. “There seems to be a tumor in the back of your brain, near your cerebellum,” Sasuke says in an apologetic, professional tone.

I cough, choking on my spit. 

He goes on. “It’s small. We can do some more testing to find out what grade of tumor this is. If...if the results come out to say you have grade one brain cancer, we can have you in for surgery in as soon three weeks from now.”

I...really don’t believe this. All this time, I’ve had a tumor...in my _brain_. How could I not have known? How has it escaped me this whole time? Have I really been so busy that I haven't noticed a decline in my own health? 

“Dr. Uzumaki doesn’t look so good,” Konohamaru mutters. 

No shit, I want to yell. But I’m collapsing. My knees shake and give out on me. Before they knock against the cool linoleum, Sasuke catches me. His hands are locked firmly around my forearms as he pulls me to my feet and then allows me to rest against him. 

“Please grab some fruit and a cup of water for Dr. Uzumaki,” Sasuke tells Konohamaru. Konohamaru nods seriously and leaves us and the radiologist techs in the room. 

Sasuke is hesitant, probably trying to decide if we should wait for Konohamaru while standing, or if we should move someplace where we can both sit. After a few seconds pass, he begins guiding me out of the MRI room. Since most of my weight is on him, we move slow. But eventually, we’re out. Tears stream down my face, but I ignore them. I want to be strong. Now that I'm sure I'm going to be seeing Sasuke a lot more often, I care about what he thinks of me. I don't want him to see me as a weak patient who can't handle the cards they've been given, but as a strong man who will sail regardless of the storm that rages in the waters. 

“I'm not going to pass out on you,” I mumble to Sasuke. I almost tell him that I'm going to beat this cancer on my own, too. I want to grin and say I'm going to beat it without treatment. My bravado wears thin the second that thought crosses my mind, though. There's no way in hell I'm going to beat this on my own. 

Sasuke looks wistful or maybe angry when we find a bench, wooden with two small cushions, and slowly sit down. 

What's he have to be mad about? He has his whole life ahead of him with no physical or apparent mental disability in his way. 

Irritable, I scoot away from him and glare down the hall towards the room we just left. 

"You know..." Sasuke begins with his voice low, almost a whisper. "It's okay to be angry. I have yet to see a person who learns they have a tumor in their body that is grateful for it. No one leaves that room smiling..." 

I snort. No shit. Is that supposed to make me feel better? 

"Also, I--" He hesitates. 

_Get on with it already_ , I think to myself. _Or shut up._

"Naruto, it's okay to cry. No one will see you as less of a man just because you cry. 

A deep sigh leaves me then. “I know that, dumb ass. Will you be quiet now?" 

He chuckles lightly. "And to think you used to be the talkative one who could never keep quiet." 

I glance over at him then. "You remember so much from back then. I hardly remember anything at all." 

He makes a face. "Of course you don't. You were probably too happy to be alive and too focused on experiencing as much as possible to be mindful enough to actually commit many of your experiences to memory. Am I wrong?" 

He's got me there. "No, I guess you're not." 

Sasuke sighs and stares up at the ceiling. “Everyone loved you. It’s a shame you’re still single.”

I sit up fast. A little too fast. I’ve made myself dizzy. “How do you know I’m single?” I demand, offended. Honestly, there's nothing offensive about being single, but when I look at Sasuke, I imagine him with a beautiful wife and two cute kids, and suddenly my single life seems sad and laughable. 

Sasuke shrugs, indifferent. “I asked Gaara, your co-worker, when he came by a few days ago…”

"Gaara came by?" What the hell was he doing at Konoha? For a second, I'm afraid a tumor's been found in his body, too. “How do you know Gaara?” I ask, wary.

Sasuke eyes find mine and he raises a brow while leaning on his left hand so that he’s leaning closer to me. “He didn’t tell you? Gaara was supposed to be permanently taking over Sakura’s position as head of the psychiatry department here. But he came in a few days ago to decline the position. He recommended you instead.”

My head is spinning. I lean in to Sasuke so close that our faces are inches apart. “Wait, what? That’s crazy! I didn’t even know Gaara was offered the position! What did your boss say?”

Sasuke smirks, his eyes narrowing playfully. “She said Konoha doesn’t accept C students for such high positions.”

Gently, I punch his thigh. “Cut the shit...what’d she say?”

Sasuke sighs heavily, his smile twitching like he doesn't know whether he wants to smile wider or frown. “Well, after further pestering from yours truly, you will receive a letter from Konoha Hospital in, eh, maybe four more days inviting you to come in and speak with the president of our hospital yourself.”

Before I can stop myself, I throw my arms around Sasuke’s neck. I don’t want to leave my Suna patients, but if I’m head psychiatrist at Konoha, I won’t have to leave them, not really. I can just treat them here. Also, the head psychiatrist is able to influence changes at sister hospitals if they want to. They just have that authority. As head psychiatrist of Konoha, I can vouch for an expansion at Suna. More doctors, more nurses, a nicer facility. 

“And the tumor isn’t really that big, Naruto,” Sasuke continues, pulling back from me. “Dr. Shikamaru Nara is one of our best neurosurgeons here. He can have the tumor removed in under two hours.” 

I can’t stop smiling. This is not happening. It can’t be. “You know something crazy?” I choke out, reaching over to squeeze Sasuke’s hand. He let’s me. He even squeezes back.

“What?” he asks, looking a little unsure of himself.

I wipe my falling tears from my face with the back of my free hand. Sasuke stares down at me with intense dark eyes. His pale pink lips are slightly parted. A few strands of his black, pin-straight hair have fallen free from his man sprout. Begrudgingly, I have to admit he looks are radiant as he did in the past.

“Today is my birthday,” I tell him. And before I can say anything else, his lips are upon mine. And I know everything will find a way to be alright.


	2. Walls of Jericho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naruto and Sasuke take a risky hiking trip and get closer.

“Those corticosteroid pills you prescribed me aren’t working as well as I thought they would,” I point out as Sasuke and I make our way up the rugged terrain of Walls of Jericho, a hiking trail that is only an hour drive from my place.

Sasuke gives me a look from the corner of his eye, but continues walking along the path as if I hadn’t said anything. He was pretty apprehensive about bringing me here, and by apprehensive, I mean he argued with me for forty whole minutes about how we should go on a date that doesn’t involve testing the limits on the brain tumor sitting right on top of the very structure in my brain that’s most responsible for coordinated movement. However, when I pulled the ‘I’m having a serious surgery in less than two weeks and this is my pre-operation wish’ card, he caved. My tumor is low grade and the surgery, with the right neurosurgeon, should be a piece of cake compared to surgically removing other brain tumors. Nonetheless, nor Sasuke or I can deny how serious this procedure is not simply because of where it is will occur. It's not like I'm having surgery on my knee or elbow, parts of my body I can go without for a few weeks. No, I'm having it on my brain, the most vital organ second not even to the heart. 

The goal of the surgery is to remove all of my tumor before it begins to spread because after my biopsy last week, we now know that my tumor is both cancerous and, because of its location in my brain, considered malignant.

But despite the seriousness of my brain situation, I refuse to let Sasuke ignore the seriousness of my need to get out and hike. Now Sasuke walks as slow as a turtle through molasses and watches me like a hawk.

“I could lose my license for this,” he says when we stop by a flat boulder to take a break. He helps me sit down even though I try to shoo his hand away. 

“You could lose your license for going on a date?” 

“You’re putting yourself in danger, Naruto,” he grits out through clenched teeth while he sits down on the ground beside me. “These paths and hills aren’t known for being a mild climb. In fact, Walls of Jericho is recommended _only_ for experienced hikers.” 

“Mostly,” I correct. “And I am experienced! I used to go hiking two or even three times a week before my symptoms got bad!”

“So you think now that you’re seeing your oncologist, it’s okay for you to start up hiking again? Seriously. I may be a doctor, but there isn’t much I can do for you if you have a seizure in the middle of the woods or if you have a nasty fall because you can’t walk as well as before.” Sasuke’s brows furrow in true worry and he pauses in his effort to open his bag of trail mix. 

“Gimme,” I insist in a low voice. He hands the bag over without a word and lets me open it for him. Next thing I know, the sweet scent of raisins, organic dark chocolate, and a mixed variety of unsalted nuts wafts into my face and my stomach turns in on itself.

“What’s wrong?” Sasuke demands when I thrust the bag back to him. He takes it uneasily, as if it might contain a poisonous spider.

I shake my head and wrap both arms around my stomach. Who knew that a bag of my favorite snack would make me almost vomit out of nowhere? 

“Do I need to call someone? Are you okay?” Sasuke drops the trail mix to the ground as he shoots up and stands before me. His hands are on my shoulders and his dark eyes are begging me to say something, anything. 

I want to answer him, I do. Something is wrong with my motor neurons in my mouth, though. I _can’t_ make myself talk. Even though I open my mouth, my lips only quiver. On top of this, my stomach keeps churning, convulsing like it's being punched multiple times. Then, as if matters can't get any worse, the back of my head starts pulsing with an oncoming migraine. It doesn’t occur to me that I’m having a seizure until Sasuke says in a voice as thin as water, “Shit, I should have prescribed you _Clobazam_.” He says something after that, but I don’t hear him. Everything is happening so fast. My heart races and my eyes flutter a few times, as if they’re adjusting to an extremely bright light. I want to reach out and grab onto Sasuke, but I literally cannot move. I feel like I'm losing my mind, and I'm so scared that I actually want to. And then my body has mercy on me and I lose consciousness. 

When I wake up, I’m lying on my side on the same boulder from before, and Sasuke is squatting in front of me. His hand rubs from the top of my arm to the bottom of my rib cage and back up. His eyes widen in relief when he notices I’m awake and his hand stills in its movement.

“Hey,” he whispers, a careful smile edging its way on his lips.

“Hey,” I croak back, sounding and feeling like shit. My throat is burning and I have a full-blown migraine now. But at least I’m no longer convulsing. That seizure was...indescribable. The only word that comes close to describing how I just felt is “scary.” 

“Do you think you can manage some water?” Sasuke asks, still keeping his voice low. His hand slips from my side, and for a second, I forget his question as I focus on the loss of warmth from my side. Then I snap out of it.

“Yeah, water would be nice.”

I start to sit up, but pain shoots down my spine, and I have to lie down again. “Where the hell did that come from?” Everything was just fine. I hiked four and a half miles and hardly stumbled. My head was clear and I felt okay. Then as soon as I took a break, that seizure came out of nowhere.

“Focal dyscognitive seizures are common with brain tumors,” Sasuke explains, handing me his canteen of water. He could have given me my own, but I don’t say that aloud. I’m happy that he’s comfortable with drinking after me and letting me drink after him. "They can be brought on with strong scents, over exerting oneself, low blood sugar, or really anything. They're completely unpredictable. That's why I didn't want to have you out here in the first place."

I take a long sip of water and the remaining pain in my stomach eases. “Yeah, yeah. We're already more than half way through the trail, so you can't complain now." I take another sip of water. "What are focal seizures again?” It’s been awhile since I’ve been in medical school, so most non-psych-related terms are lost on me. 

Sasuke sits back with his palms pressed into the ground behind him. He stares up at the sky, dark eyes tired, as he explains. “Focal seizures are convulsions that happen in one region of the brain and are classified by the victim remaining awake and aware that they are convulsing. They’re a lesser seizure, but can be serious if they happen repeatedly. Focal dyscognitive seizures, what you just had, are focal seizures where the victim briefly loses awareness, but remains awake, or where they lose consciousness all together.”

“Yikes,” I breathe, shuddering internally. “That was...petrifying."

Sasuke nods slowly, his eyes finding mine again. “I know. I used to get them as a kid.”

I perk myself up on my elbow. “What? Really?”

He nods again, looking a little unsure of himself. “They weren’t anything grave. They were mostly febrile, so I only got them when I was really sick with the cold or flu and had a fever.”

“That sounds terrible. How old were you when they started? And when did they stop?”

Sasuke purses his lips, and my heart thumps harder when I remember how soft they felt against mine when he kissed me in the radiology wing of the hospital several weeks ago. He hasn’t kissed me since, and I haven’t made a move on him either. I want to, though.

Sasuke’s sheepish chuckling brings me out of my daydream. “This is embarrassing, but one of my earliest memories is actually of me having a seizure. I think I was two years old…? With proper medication and doing my best to not get sick, the seizures stopped around my twelfth birthday.”

My brows shoot up. “Wow, they continued for a long time then. Were your parents ever really worried? Did you ever have one in school or in public?” 

Sasuke sits up and dusts his hands off. Small pebbles fall from his palms and tinkle against the dirt path. He watches the pebbles fall before his eyes snap up to mine. They’re humorless and hard despite how his lips are turned up in a grin. He reminds me of a demon. “To be honest? My parents thought I was possessed. In the middle of one of my seizures, I almost choked to death because I fell on my back and they were too afraid to turn me on my side. They instead threw homemade holy water on my face and repeated bible verses. I was six years old and thought I was going to die.”

“Holy shit!” I force myself off my elbow and into a seated position. My eyes are frantic. “How the hell did you survive ten years of that?”

Sasuke’s smile vanishes, but his eyes soften. “My older brother...He was the only one who actually listened when my doctor told my parents about febrile seizures, so he was prepared for when I had them. He also made sure to keep me home when I was sick, even if all I had was a mild cough or a runny nose. So, to answer your second question, nope. I never had a seizure in school or public.”

I run a hand through my hair, whistling. “Shit...Thank god for your brother.”

Sasuke beams all of a sudden, and I swear my heart stops. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone light up so brightly before. The corners of his glittering gray-black eyes twinkle, a slight blush warms his cheeks, and his smile is wide enough to show off both rows of his perfect, white teeth. He’s exquisite. For a split second, I smile right along with him. “Yeah,” Sasuke breaths. “He was a great person.”

My smile falters. “Was?”

Sasuke takes a deep breath, pushing himself off the ground so that he’s standing again. The sun blinds me so I have to squint to look up at him, and I can hardly see his face when he says, “He was killed in a hit and run last fall.” 

My body still feels weak, but I make myself stand because I can’t bear sitting now. “Shit, Sasuke. I’m so sorry.” He’s still smiling, but he looks sadder now. I don’t know what to do, so I take both his hands in mine and give them a small squeeze. He squeezes back and pulls me into him. I don’t resist when he nudges the side of my head with his cheek so that I duck my head so he can rest his chin on the top of my head. Sasuke’s only a few centimeters taller than I am, so if I didn’t lean down a little, it would have been impossible for Sasuke to tuck my head under his chin. 

We stay like this for a few breaths, just relaxing into each other. I want to say something to make him feel better, maybe even apologize for asking too many questions. Me running my mouth is what made him bring up his brother, right? 

“Don’t feel bad,” Sasuke says suddenly. “It’s not like you said, ‘hey, about your dead brother...,’ or something like that.”

He’s right. I can’t try to blame myself for making small talk, even if that small talk did end up going someplace unexpected and depressing. 

When Sasuke pulls back, he looks okay again. “How are you feeling?” he asks, voice smooth like velvet. 

I release his hands and grin up at him. “Healthy as a horse.”

Sasuke snorts. “Do you think you can make it to the top of the mountain? We have…” He pulls out his phone to check the online map. “A little over one mile to go.”

“Yep! That seizure was totally refreshing.”

Sasuke pauses in putting his phone away to give me a horrified look, and when I crack a small smile, he tries, but fails, to smile back at me. He doesn't think this is funny. Of course he doesn't. That doesn't mean I can't try to make the best of this, though. I'm hiking with an attractive guy on a challenging trail, and, for the most part, I'm doing great. My chest feels warm and my head feels fuzzy in a good way, in an ‘I’m having a great time and am possibly really liking the person I'm with’ way. 

“Well, as long as you’re feeling up to it,” he says. And then he grabs my hand and we continue our hike through the chilly fall air. We walk along the dirt path that’s lined with trees changing colors, trees that boast leaves of emerald green, burnt orange, and brick red. We pass moss-covered rocks, and move to the the low hum of forest bugs. 

 

***

 

My long-sleeved shirt and the t-shirt underneath it are soaked through with sweat when Sasuke and I finally reach the top of the trail. My feet ache as if I’ve just worked a double-shift at Chipotle, and my mouth hasn’t been this dry since that time I tried to run a 10k without any water. I collapse on the ground, too tired to find a cleanish rock to crash on. Sasuke plops down right beside me, panting like a dog in the summer heat. 

“Holy hell, we still have to walk back down,” Sasuke whines. I’ve never heard him whine before, so of course I have to laugh at him. 

“You act like we just ran a marathon. We only hiked a few miles. On a regular day, I can hike ten miles one-way, sometimes more.”

Sasuke makes a wary face. “I hope you don’t try that feat anytime soon. You’re going to need to wait at least two weeks after your surgery to do any serious exercise.” 

I roll my eyes. “I know, I know.”

Sasuke’s face hardens. “Naruto, I’m serious.”

“Okay!” 

We’re staring each other down, icy blue burning into black holes, when, all of a sudden, we hear a loud caw above us and then bird shit falls and literally splatters right by my face.

“What the--fuck you!” I shout up at the ugly, black crow perched on a branch directly above me.

Sasuke’s snickering to himself. “You’re lucky that didn’t hit your face.”

I scowl over at him. “Shut it. You know you would have had a stroke if it did.”

Sasuke shrugs, still snickering. “I probably would have.” 

I shake my head, reaching for my bag for my water bottle and some snacks. Sasuke watches me all the while, and before I can stop myself, I blurt, “You’re really fucking gorgeous.”

Sasuke double-blinks. Then triple-blinks. Then a red blush darkens his cheeks and he looks away, laughing awkwardly. “Thank you?”

I have half a protein bar and a baggy of beef jerky left. “What? No one’s ever told you that before?”

He rolls his head around on his neck, wincing as he eases the tension that’s probably there. “The nurses compliment me here and there, and I’m sure people have thought what they want about me, but no one’s ever called me gorgeous in such a straightforward way before.”

I shrug, unwrapping the remainder of the protein bar and stuffing it in my mouth. “That’s their loss. I’ll make a note to say it myself more often, though. You’re even more gorgeous when you’re flustered.”

Sasuke scrunches his nose, but he doesn’t actually look all that upset by my comment.

We sit in a comfortable silence for a little while. A bird tweets or a crow caws occasionally. The sun has come out, but it isn’t uber bright, which is a blessing. The scent of black willow trees, pine trees, and hickory trees surrounds us, and I feel more peace in this moment than I have since I received my diagnosis. 

“Have you ever thought about becoming vegan? Or even vegetarian?” Sasuke asks when I begin chewing on my jerky.

I’m taken aback so hard I nearly choke. “ _What_? Why would I do that?”

Sasuke raises both brows, and he very clearly wants to say something smart, but he holds back. 

“Seriously,” I insist, swallowing around a delicious piece of teriyaki beef. “Meat isn’t as unhealthy as some people make it out to be. Not when it’s eaten in moderation. Neither is dairy.” 

“I disagree,” Sasuke says simply, fixing his gaze on a fuzzy black caterpillar that’s inching it’s way near his foot. 

“Don’t tell me you were traumatized by a slaughter house when you were a kid or something like that. Cows are killed humanely nowadays. As are chickens and pigs. And dairy animals live nice, peaceful lives.”

“If you say so.”

“Sasuke,” I demand. He’s reluctant, but he eventually looks up at me. “Don’t get all pouty on me because of what I choose to eat. Please.”

His eyes widen and his mouth forms an indignant ‘O’. “I am not getting pouty on you,” he argues in a pitched voice. “I just asked you if you’d ever go vegan or vegetarian, and you gave me your answer. End of story. No pouting here.”

I frown. “But does my eating meat bother you?”

“No,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. 

“Good. Because I’m not giving it up. Not for all the tea in China.”

Sasuke sighs. “I thought you didn’t drink tea.”

“I don’t,” I confirm. And then I take another large bite of my beef jerky. 

 

***

 

The sky has darkened to a dusty rose and purple merle by the time Sasuke and I hike back to Sasuke’s two door Mercedes sport. It’s a C-Class Coupe, and it takes my breath away for the second time today when I lay my eyes on it. 

“How can you afford this?” I ask when we slide inside the car. The interior is all leather and the dashboard is so high-tech, it looks like it belongs in a car made twenty years from now. 

“I can’t, really,” Sasuke says as he presses a button to start the car. “The payments are astronomical, more than the mortgage for my house.”

A chill runs down my spine at the mention of a mortgage. “Speaking of which...I have a payment due soon.”

Sasuke shoots a look at me from the corner of his eye. “Don’t tell me you’re one to pay bills late.”

I laugh nervously and scratch at my cheek. “I mean, I have the money for my bills, don’t get me wrong. Just sometimes, I forget about them…” I laugh again.

“Dear god,” Sasuke murmurs. 

We pull out of the dusty parking lot, and my heart yearns to return to the trail as we leave behind my little slice of heaven and head back to the real world where I have real worries and real responsibilities. 

“One of my patients ODed last night,” I whisper when we hit the highway.

“Oh no.” Sasuke probably knows where this is going because he turns the music on the radio down. He was listening to some rock song, but I’m glad he’s willing to listen to me potentially complain for the next forty-five minutes. “What did they overdose on?”

“Seroquel. I should have known better than to prescribe that to them. They've...been going through some things, though, and I felt so bad for them. They've been having trouble sleeping for months, and nothing has been able to help. Not Ambien or Trazodone. And of course not melatonin or mediation. So I finally cracked and gave them a prescription for a thirty day supply of 50 milligrams yesterday. They took the whole bottle last night.”

“Sheesh,” Sasuke says. He looks genuinely sad. “I suppose you’d be breaking confidentiality if you told me their name, right?”

“Unfortunately,” I say. I can't even tell Sasuke their gender. 

“Do your patients overdose a lot?” 

I inhale a sharp breath and frown over at him. “I’m not some irresponsible idiot,” I snap. We both know I’m not this irritable, but I take my job seriously, and I would give my life for most of my patients. I really care about them, and I don’t appreciate anyone eluding that I mis-prescribe medications on a regular.

Sasuke chews at his lower lip. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “I just...in psychiatry, you never know. You can prescribe someone melatonin, and they might try to use that to kill themselves.”

“Not everyone who sees a psychiatrist is on the verge of suicide.” My voice comes out much colder than I anticipated. It leaves no room for argument, shuts the conversation down. 

“Okay.”

Sasuke turns the radio back up from a tiny button on his steering wheel. A song by Imagine Dragons with a steady bass and a stealthy drum line comes to life. We let the song play out, and when _High_ by Sir Sly comes on, I sigh and turn the radio down from the screen on the dashboard. 

“Have you...ever had a patient OD before?” The questions is whispered so low that I can barely hear myself ask it.

“Yeah.” 

“Really?”

Sasuke’s index fingers taps the steering wheel. I don’t know if he’s annoyed or nervous or just bored. His face is blank and he’s staring straight ahead, watching the road. “Mmhm.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, I press for more information. “What happened?”

He inhales slow and exhales just as slow. “I’d just given them their diagnosis: stage five pancreatic cancer. I...panicked. This was early in my career as an oncologist, and I’d given cancer diagnosis before. But no one reacted like this patient. They just looked dead inside. They’d already had a rough life, dealt with physical and sexual trauma as a child. And they weren’t very old. Only twenty three. When I gave them their diagnosis, they broke right before me, turned lifeless. And like I said, I panicked. So I did the exact thing my mentors told me not to. I wrote them a prescription for Oxycodone, a painkiller that puts Vicodin and Percocet to shame.” A shadow seems to fall over Sasuke’s face. “It was only a fourteen-day supply. They were only supposed to take it as needed.”

I swallow hard, staring into my lap. My leg won’t stop jigging and I don’t try to make it. “Did...did they survive?”

Sasuke shakes his head once, somber. “Washed all fourteen pills down with a bottle of Grey Goose. By the time her roommate found her, she was gone.”

So it was a girl. Usually when we talk about our patients, to maintain confidentiality, most doctors try to use gender neutral pronouns. Sasuke’s slip up shows that her death must have really affected him. 

When I feel a dull ache in my ankle and a tightness in my calf, I try to calm my leg. It literally won’t stop moving, though. Goddammit. 

A cold sweat starts at the small of my back and my underarms prickle. Sasuke doesn’t seem to notice my panic, though, which is good. 

“I bet you thought about changing professions after that,” I say. I know I sure as hell did after one of my first patients completed a suicide. 

Sasuke sighs, heavier than he has all day. “Yeah, I did actually. But my brother, Itachi, helped me through. He had me take a week off and covered for me. Told me to go on vacation, and I did.”

“Your brother was an oncologist, too?”

“Eh, not really. He was actually a cardiologist. He mostly did heart surgeries all day. But he knew enough about tumors and spent enough time around me to be able to handle taking my place for several days.”

“And he continued to do cardiac surgeries while you were away?” 

“Yeah. Itachi was a machine." Sasuke's lip quirks upwards to one side, even as the rest of his face remains expressionless. "He worked for seventy-two hours straight once. Had a sixteen hour surgery and then work to do after that. He didn’t complain once.”

“That’s amazing,” I acknowledge. And really, it is. I sometimes complain when I don’t make it home after a twelve hour day. I can’t imagine working for three days straight. 

Sasuke licks at his lips, and then he turns his head to me, and with clear, honest eyes, he asks, “Did you go into your job thinking you could save everyone?” 

His question shocks me. Sure, I’ve talked about bad breaks with patients before to my co-workers, but no one has ever asked me after saving people in such a blunt manner before. 

“I--yes--no...yeah.” A memory of me shadowing a psychiatrist during my undergrad days flashes before my eyes. I was twenty years old and overly hopeful. I’d made plenty of friends in college and had helped many people talk out their problems. My parents raised me to believe that I was gifted and special, that I was made to save everyone who stepped into my sight. Day one at Suna proved me wrong, though. 

He nods, tapping on the steering wheel again. “I didn’t, to be honest. My brother fucked up a surgery bad early on in his career, and I just knew that if he could mess up, I wouldn’t stand a chance. So I didn’t go into it with any expectations. I didn’t think I would save anyone’s life. I just wanted to help people cope with their painful realities. And yet, I am still surprised every time something goes wrong. Every time I get a call saying a patient is in the hospital, on their deathbed, or already passed, it still hurts.” 

I understand that all too well. Well, not the not going into my profession with expectations part. But definitely the shock when something bad happens to a patient. Not that bad things happen often, thank god. But the shock never gets old. 

When we’re ten minutes from my house, Sasuke and I have moved on from talking about deaths and overdoses. We’ve been reminiscing on our residency days, recalling the jerks in our program and the people who just weren’t cut out to be doctors. I know this is the last thing I should ask Sasuke, but I have to know. “What are you going to do if my surgery doesn’t go well?”

Sasuke breaks so hard that my body snaps forward even with my seat belt on and the person in the car behind us lays on their horn. 

Sasuke throws me a panicked look and the car behind us speeds around us. Sasuke doesn’t continue to drive. 

“ _What the hell_ , Naruto?” 

My brows raise and I try to glower at him, but my face just can’t pull that off right now. At least my leg’s stopped jigging. “I--I’m sorry! But I am your patient! I just...don’t want you to be devastated if Shikamaru can’t remove all of my tumor!”

“I wouldn’t be devastated,” Sasuke sneers, but we both know he’s lying. Just from what he’s told me, this job has already started taking a toll on him. It won’t surprise me if he burns out within the next few years. 

I rest my temple against the window, avoiding eye contact. “You know, it’s not a bad thing to care, right? And it’s okay if things don’t go as planned.”

“Yes, Naruto, I know.”

I want to add more to that, but we’re pulling up in my driveway now. 

“Wow,” Sasuke breathes, momentarily distracted. “You live in a nice place for someone who works at Suna.” 

“If you think this is nice, you should see Gaara’s estate. That man has to make two hundred thousand a year.” 

“Is he the head of your department or something?”

“Nah. He’s just been there the longest. He has the best reputation, the most patients, you know how it is.”

“Actually, I don’t. I’m the head of oncology at Konoha.” Sasuke smirks over at me and I have the strongest urge to lean over and kiss the hell out of him. 

“Well, things are going to be changing real soon. I’ve already talked my transfer over with Tsunade. I’ll be the official head of psychiatry at Konoha in eleven more days.”

Sasuke’s smirk turns into a wide grin. “I look forward to seeing you around more often.”

“Right back at ya.”

I lean in to him and he leans over to me, but he only rests his forehead on mine. I have to resist the instinct to pout. 

“I enjoyed spending the day with you.” Sasuke's warm breath tickles my cheeks, and I want it to tickle other things.

“Me, too.” 

We’re so close, so damn close. I want to kiss him more than anything. 

“Don’t forget to take your corticosteroids tonight. I’ll try to grab you a bottle of anti-seizure medication, most likely Clobazam, from the job. If I can get it, I’ll bring it over before eleven. If I can’t, I’ll just email you a prescription, and you will get it filled as soon as possible, right?”

His voice leaves no room for argument, and fighting him is the last thing I want to do with this man at this point. 

“Yes, sir," I say, hoping he can see the desperation on my face.

“Good. Now come here.” 

Sasuke brings his hand to the back of my head and crushes his lips against mine. I open my mouth for him seconds in, and he doesn’t hesitate to deepen our kiss. As his tongue glides over mine and I nibble on his plump bottom lip, I can’t imagine any place I’d rather be than inside Sasuke’s car with his tongue in my mouth and his hands tangled in my hair. 

We stay glued together for more time than I’d care to admit. We we finally pull apart, Sasuke plants several wet kisses on my cheek while I pant and clutch at him like I'm trying not to drown.

“I’ll see you tonight, and if not tonight, the day before your surgery?”

“The day before my surgery,” I repeat. 

“Alright.” Sasuke leans back in his seat. “Take care of yourself, C-student.”

I chuckle, getting out of his car. “You, too, bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *extra-long exhale* Wooo. This chapter took some time to write, you guys, and even longer to edit. I loved every second of it, though. Honestly, I think editing is my favorite part of writing. Because when you edit, you get to really refine your work, you know? ^^ Too bad I decided to edit this in the middle of the OSU vs Penn State game, though. I'm a huge college football fan, so this is not a game I could afford to miss, haha. That being said, if there are any abhorrent typos in this chapter, please please please let me know. The last thing I want is for you to have to put up with bad grammar. 
> 
> Also, let me know what you think about this update! Was the pacing too fast, too slow? Did the dialogue work? Were there any scenes you especially liked or didn't care for? Your feedback helps me make this story enjoyable for you, so let me know how I'm doing if you can. <3
> 
> Other than that, have a good rest of your weekend, guys. Get some rest if you need it. Study hard if you're in school, and if you're in the work force, keep doing well. ^^
> 
> ***
> 
> Here's some information on some of the things discussed in this chapter that may be confusing or that you might be curious for more information on:
> 
> Focal Dyscognitive Seizures: http://epilepsyontario.org/about-epilepsy/types-of-seizures/complex-partial-seizures/
> 
> Walls of Jericho Hiking Trail: https://www.thrillist.com/gear/best-hiking-trails-in-america-top-rated-hikes-in-every-state
> 
> Cerebral Astrocytomas (Naruto's tumor/form of cancer): https://www.columbianeurosurgery.org/conditions/cerebellar-astrocytomas/causes/
> 
> Febrile Seizures: https://www.emedicinehealth.com/seizures_in_children/article_em.htm


	3. As A Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naruto and Sasuke spend time together before Naruto undergoes his surgery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's better than studying for your behavioral neuroscience final exam? :D Updating a story that's been dry for a month and a half! Along with the addition of chapter three, I've updated chapter one so it reads a little better. 
> 
> Information for things that will be referred to in this chapter:
> 
> -How patients prep and are cared for before and after their tumor removals: http://www.med.unc.edu/neurosurgery/services/brain-tumors/Brain%20Tumor-Surgery%20Frequently%20Asked%20Questions%20Document.pdf
> 
> -Risks involved with brain tumor surgery: http://www.abta.org/brain-tumor-treatment/treatments/surgery.html?referrer=https://www.google.com/?referrer=http://www.abta.org/brain-tumor-treatment/treatments/surgery.html
> 
> Also, kudos and comments let me know if you like this story! :) So, if you'd like for me to keep updating this, please leave feedback. Thanks!
> 
> ***Note***  
> Stop by and see me on Tumblr for aesthetic posts, SNS reblogs, and occasional updates of this story if you're interested. My username's the same as it is on here, notassweetasasweetpotato ^^

I don't get to see Sasuke that night. Or the night after that. He emails me my prescription for the anti-seizure medication the morning after our date, and then he calls me on his lunch break to tell me about two new patients who've just been referred to him. Both of the patients are children who are showing signs of malignant spinal cord tumors, so when he tells me that the majority of his time will be spent working with their treatment teams and discussing whether their tumors will even be able to be partially removed surgically from here on out, I'm not surprised. Malignant tumors aren't as common as benign tumors and are much harder to treat. Especially when they're on the spinal cord. With both of the patients being young (Sasuke didn't give me their exact ages), it's a wonder that he's even willing to consider treatment. From what Sasuke told me, the main reason why he accepted their previous doctor's referral is because he didn't want them to be sent to an oncologist who'd give up on them. But if I was in another doctor's shoes and had to find out how to save their lives, I...I hate to think this, but I imagine I'd chalk their cases up as a lost cause. Putting those kids through surgeries and painful treatments when there's an overwhelming chance that they might not make it just sounds cruel and unusual to me.

I feel so horrible for the kids, and I know Sasuke will do what he can to better their situations. But, again, spinal cord cancer is rare and extremely hard to treat. Also, I can't help but to take Sasuke's mental health into consideration. The conversation Sasuke and I had on the ride home from Walls of Jericho has played through my mind countless times since I got his call. How will Sasuke feel if he can't help them? What will he do if they both die while they're in his care? 

Sighing, I stare into the glass of water on my nightstand as if all the answers I'm looking for are floating within the cylindrical container.

Worrying about those kids and Sasuke's mental state of mind isn't the only thing keeping me up tonight, though. Loneliness makes me feel a strange emptiness I haven't felt in a while, makes it hard for me to close my eyes and not remember who I'm missing. I understand that Sasuke's busy, I do. However, more than a week has passed, and I have my surgery tomorrow afternoon. And I was just hoping that I'd be able to see him outside of the hospital before I go under. A sound between a cough and a cry of frustration escapes my throat. 

I could call Kiba or my parents. They don't even know what's going on right now, that I have small growth on the back of my cerebellum. Or I could call Sakura. I haven't heard from her in two months. No doubt, she's still grieving Lee's suicide and wouldn't mind a late night sob fest. Despite knowing this, an odd mix of pride and shame keeps me from picking up the phone. I've always been strong and mature. My parents haven't seen me stumble in my academics or personal life since I graduated high school because I'm good at keeping my emotions on the down low. I don't want to call them now, this late at night, to cry about a risky surgery. Same goes with Kiba. In our relationship, I'm supposed to be the "big brother" even though we were born mere months apart. If I call him now, I might worry him. I could trigger him...

If I call Sakura, I have a feeling I'll only want to talk about Sasuke, and that's definitely not okay. How can I cry about how lonely I feel when the person I'm missing is someone I don't really know, is someone who is very much alive and well? I can't. Also, I'm not even sure if Sasuke is who I'm really missing. All I know is I feel lonely and he's the easiest person to pin my loneliness on right now. 

Ugh. 

Thinking about my friends and family and all my mixed feelings is a bad idea, so I redirect my thoughts to the details of my surgery, as if they can possibly calm me down. I've already consented to my surgery, signed a consent form right after Dr. Nara gave me a run-down of the procedure, the risks associated with it, and his expectations for my recovery plan. I've had my pre-operative visit where a neurologist did my physical which was pretty much the same thing as the exam I did with Sasuke, only more detailed. I've also had my pre-anesthesia visit where I had an EKG done, met a few members on the anesthesiology team that will be present during my surgery, and had X-rays taken on my brain and chest. The same day of my pre-anesthesia visit, I had several blood tests done. According to Dr. Nara, I'm good to go. 

Before I left his office, I was instructed not to eat or drink anything after 12am, and so my eyes keep flickering over to my phone screen. 11:45pm. 11:47pm. 11:50 pm. The more I check the time, the more it seems to drag on.

I sit up in bed, fisting the sheets at my sides. I should go eat. Even if I only smash a few saltine crackers, something is better than nothing. Except I'm not hungry. I was told to at least eat a light snack in the late evening so that I won't be famished tomorrow, but I can't bring myself to do that. My heart is racing and I feel sick with worry. 

Just remembering some of the risks associated with craniotomies, surgeries on brain tumors, that can basically ruin my life as I know it or kill me makes me want to vomit. I could get pneumonia or infections in my brain. I could get blood clots which might result in a stroke. There's even a chance that I will have severe seizures post-operation, or fall into a coma. And the worst case scenario is I could die, or get permanently brain damaged to the point where I'll no longer be able to take care of myself and I might not remember who I am. 

I groan and sink back down into the bed. When I can't stand just staring up at the ceiling any longer, I twist around so I can bury my face in my pillow. 

Tsunade called a few hours ago to wish me luck with my surgery. Even though I am still the official head of psychiatry now, my assistant, a person I have yet to meet named Dr. Yamanaka, will be taking over for some time. Tsunade told me to get back in touch with her two weeks post-operation to let her know if I feel ready to return to work or not, but, the truth is, I planned on going back to work immediately after my surgery. If not immediately, maybe after a day or two. Why the hell would I want to wait two weeks to return? It's not like I'm a professional athlete. Most of my work is done behind a desk or in a rather comfortable chair. But I told this to Dr. Nara, told him that I wanted to return to work the morning after my surgery, and he must have panicked and snitched to Tsunade, because now she's put me on official medical leave until Nara says I can return. Which is in two weeks. What am I supposed to do with all that free time? What will my patients think when they have to confide in a complete stranger while I'm gone? 

As I finally lift my head from the pillow so I can breathe, I run my hand through my sheets in search of my phone. Since I've calmed down a little, my stomach's actually grumbling now, and I want to eat. I think I might go downstairs and get a Pop Tart, a strawberry one, unfrosted. My mouth waters at the thought of that. However, when I tap my phone's screen, the time glares at me in neon white: 12:27am.

Great. I guess I'll starve then.

***

Sunday morning, my eyes open mechanically at the first sound of my alarm. 9am. Everything I do is mechanic this morning. I brush my teeth, watching myself in the mirror with dull, unblinking eyes as I count to one-hundred twenty. I shower without music under lukewarm water and am finished in less than six minutes. After I throw on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, I slip on my Adidas sandals and head out to my car. My 2012 BMW winks at me in the pale sunlight, and I for a moment, I hesitate. 

Dr. Nara said I shouldn't be driving. He gave me a number for hospital transportation and told me I should have them drive me to the hospital today. For a second, I almost go back inside and call the number. Then I remember how he called Tsunade without my permission to basically rat me out, and how I probably won't be able to drive for some time after my surgery anyways, and I figure if people can drive high, I guess I can continue driving with a cerebellar astrocytoma. 

I surprise myself by how well I do. I don't know why. I didn't experience any real problems driving before I received my diagnosis, so I don't get why I think I'll experience any now. 

My vision does darken around the edges a few times, and my arm jerks once, but I make it to the hospital's main parking garage in one piece. 

As I make my way to the parking garage's second-level elevator, Dr. Nara's monotonous voice rings in my ear. "There's a risk of you going into a coma....You might have partial seizures that could possibly be treated with medication or electro-convulsive therapy..."

My heart skips a beat and my stomach clenches on itself hard. I'm almost to the elevator when I drop to my knees. The movement is unexpected, unplanned, like my body just decided its had enough and needs to take a five minute break or else. I'm paralyzed and my stomach won't stop clenching. Everything hurts all at once. Few things have ever made me want to scream more. I'm breaking out into a cold sweat, and, for a second, I fear I'm having a seizure despite the medicine Sasuke got for me. Then, miraculously, my muscles loose their tension. I still can't move, but at least I'm no longer flexing like I'm about to Hulk Out. 

_Okay_ , I tell myself. _Breathe. Deep breaths. I'm sure there's a rational explanation for this. And look. You're at the hospital. If you faint, safety is near._

But do I really believe that? Will someone actually find me knocked out on the floor of a parking garage before sufficient damage is done to my body?

Dammit, this is why I should have allowed hospital transportation to come get me. But, no. I had to be stubborn. Now look where I am. 

I can't help but to think of Sasuke. He'd know what to do in this situation. He works on Sundays, doesn't he? I wonder if he's inside the hospital right now, filling out someone's paper work while my body feels like its collapsing in on itself. Then my mind wanders to my patients. In particular, a woman in her sixties named Bev. Her husband had a stroke last year. That's what brought her in to Suna for therapy and to me for medication. She claimed to have watched him die, that she was immobile from the moment he hit the ground until he breathed his very last breath. She said she felt like she was falling to pieces. I've heard many patients use that phrase, falling to pieces, and even though I'm always sympathetic to most everyone I meet, I haven't experienced pure empathy for that phrase until now.

Gaara thinks she feels guilty, that she wanted him to die. So now she's reaching out to us to help her clear her conscience. 

I think maybe she really couldn't will herself to run to the phone or to yell for help. Maybe falling to pieces is more of a physical symptom than a psychological one. That's how I feel right now anyways. 

If I could just move my lips, I could tell Siri to call 911. If I could--my right index finger twitches. Then my palm tingles, and suddenly, I can move my hands. 

_Fucking finally._

I stand up, dizzy and weak, but at least I can stand. As quickly as I can, I push the down button on the elevator and get my phone out. 

**Literally almost died** , I text to Sasuke. 

Not even a full twenty seconds later, the elevator audibly begins to ascend, making its way up to me, and Sasuke's reply rings in. **Where are you?**

 **Konoha elevator B, heading to anesthesia precare.**

**Stay by the elevator.**

Slower than my grandma handing out Halloween candy, the clunky elevator finally settles on my level. Thick metal doors peel apart and I shuffle inside. It smells like sawdust and hand sanitizer in here. When the elevator descends onto the second floor and its doors creak open again, lo and behold, there's Sasuke. And he looks like shit. There's an actual wrinkle under his right eye, and his lips are pale as if he hasn't had any water to drink in the past three days.

"How the hell did you get here so fast?" I ask as I step out onto gray porcelain. 

Sasuke is quiet and serious as he grabs my face and stares into my eyes. "What's today's date?" he demands.

"What the hell?"

I take a step back, but he moves with me.

"What is your name?" he asks.

"Naruto, you idiot." I shake my head, but he doesn't let go of me, so I shove him. "Knock it off!"

Sasuke looks only mildly offended that I pushed him. He regards me critically for a few seconds, looks me up and down, checking for any physical ailments. Then he takes deep breath and walks away. My jaws drops as I watch round a corner, and I'm about to yell out in protest when he returns with a wheelchair. "Just to be safe," he says. 

The wheelchair is dark blue and worn. Sick people have sat in that thing. I want to argue against sitting it so bad, to convince Sasuke that if I can drive myself to the hospital, I can walk a few hundred feet to anesthesia precare. But Sasuke looks as tired as I feel, like he's ready to drop at any given moment, so I just sit down in the damn wheelchair and let him push me.

"Are you nervous?" he asks after we pass a group of bored-looking nurses and a doctor wearing a thousand mile stare. I wonder what bad news he just delivered.

I drop my head back, rest my neck against the flimsy leather back of the wheelchair so I can stare up at Sasuke. "Oh, jeez.Thanks for asking me how my week's been."

Sasuke's eyes flicker down at me. "I was just making small talk."

I snort. Right. "Yes, I'm nervous. But more about losing my job than this surgery."

He makes a face. "Why would you ever have to worry about that?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe because your good friend, Shikamaru, told Tsunade that I'll be unfit to work for at least two weeks post-surgery. In the mean time, she's getting my "assistant" to do my work. And that's not even the best part. Suna's already replaced me. I officially transferred Friday morning, and they had my old position filled Friday night."

"I didn't know people were that eager to work at Suna," Sasuke grumbles. 

I snicker. "I know right? Probably some over-eager kid who's just finished residency." 

We make a turn to enter the main lobby, and at the strong scent or sterilization and pleather furniture, my stomach churns. "Do you know of a Yamanaka by chance?" 

Sasuke nods at the information center receptionist as we pass him before he says, "Yeah, I know two of them. Ino Yamanaka went to Konoha University. Was in an advanced-graduation program. She's incredibly smart and gifted with patients. From what I hear, she graduated from med school in two and a half years, flew through residency, and then completed a year-long fellowship under Tsunade. She's not a surgeon, though. Only does internal medicine. And her father works for the lab, I think. People love him here. He's made great progress in research on neurogenesis. Why?"

Great. Either my assistant is a grade A over-achiever, or a respected researcher. My chances of keeping my new job are looking slimmer by the second. 

"Well?" Sasuke urges.

"I think one of them is my assistant. Tsunade said Dr. Yamanaka would be taking over for me, but she didn't say which one." 

Sasuke makes a noncommittal sound. "You have two revered doctors vouching for you, Naruto. Gaara speaks higher of you than his sister, which you must know says a lot. And then there's me, of course." He flashes a quick smile down at me. I'm too stunned by the unexpected beauty of it to return the smile in time for him to see. "Also, Tsunade interviewed you herself and has gone over your resume. That being said, you're well-qualified for your position _and_ you have friends in high places. Don't think Tsunade is going to replace you so fast."

I take a deep breath, digesting that. He's right. I do have a decent background, good people who support me, and a stellar reputation with the majority of the people I've seen over the years. Speaking of which..."Do you think I'll be able to transfer my current patients here? I'd still like to work with them." 

Sasuke narrowly avoids crashing me into a fake bamboo plant. "Depends on their insurance," he quips, scowling at the plant. "Our designers, I swear..." 

I force out a laugh. Exhaustion is finding me again, as is mild depression. I guess you can only be anxious for so long until your mind gives out on you. Its called the Selye Generation Adaption Syndrome, or something like that. 

For a moment, we're quiet. Holiday music instrumentals play low throughout the building. Guests whisper among themselves, quiet like mice. A family in particular sits hunched together on a bench by the gift shop. They have tears in their eyes, and their voices sound like low radio static even as we pass them. I wonder if they think their suffering will lessen if they speak in murmurs.

"You look depressed," Sasuke says when we finally reach McKinnin, the section of the hospital that's comprised of eight entire floors dedicated to the neurosurgeons, the oncologists, and neurosurgery of Konoha. The third floor of McKinnin is where anesthesia precare is. 

"I'm not...depressed."

"Hn. I didn't say you were depressed. I said you looked depressed. There's a difference." 

Obviously. I feel irritated all of a sudden, trapped. This is it. I can't leave now. I mean, I can. But that would entail trying to outrun Sasuke and maybe even security if he decides to call for them.

I don't want to talk anymore. I want Sasuke to be quiet so I can focus on calming myself down before I meet my anesthesiologist and the people on his or her team that I didn't get to meet the other day. But Sasuke, of course, can't read my mind. Since I'm normally so talkative, he's speaking up more than usual in an effort to make me comfortable. The thing is, there is nothing he or anyone else can do to make me feel less shitty than I do. 

So when Sasuke asks, "Hard being here as of a patient, huh?" when we pass an elevator that goes directly to the ICU, I shouldn't react as strongly as I do.

"Would you shut up?" I snap. "You're not making this any easier for me!"

Sasuke stiffens at that and we stop walking. I don't dare look back at him. "I...I'm sorry?" he says, sounding genuinely confused, maybe even offended.

Ugh. "Don't say that. You sound even more insincere than unsual."

Sasuke doesn't anything in response. He's silent for a pause, and then he huffs with the effort it takes him to jerk the wheelchair forward hard enough to make me slide forward an inch before he begins pushing me with renewed vigor, walking much faster than his leisurely pace before. 

"Now you're walking like we actually have someplace to be," I grumble to myself.

"What's your problem?" he hisses, stopping again and spinning me around to face him. "You've had an attitude since you saw me."

My breathing stutters. Dark purple colors the bags under Sasuke's eyes. The skin above his eyebrow is dry and flaky. I remember his two new patients, the kids with possible incurable cancers. The last thing I should be doing is giving him shit, but I can't help it. I just feel so pissy. I want this day to be over. For a split-second, I think I want my life to be over.

"Just let me walk the rest of the way by myself," I sigh, fixing my eyes on the white wall behind Sasuke.

"Um, no? You don't get to just push me away after I pushed your heavy ass all the way here."

"You don't need to be here."

"Naruto, I ran from my office to the parking garage for you. I dropped everything just to see you off, did I not? I don't think it matters if I need to be here. I _want_ to be here."

When I don't respond, he steps closer to me and squats so our eyes are leveled. 

"Look, I get that you're worried. The idea of surgery is messing with your head. But Dr. Nara has removed tumors larger than yours, in areas more crucial than yours. If he didn't think he'd be able to remove it, you wouldn't be here right now. If I didn't have complete faith in that man, you would not be here right now. So would you quit being such a little bitch? Everything will be alright." I scoff. "Naruto, I'm serious. I'll talk to Tsunade about your job, threaten her if I have to. I'll remind Shikamaru that if he isn't completely sure he can safely remove your tumor, that he is only to remove as much of it as he can. We can try to treat the rest with chemo or a laser surgery later on."

"You're so...so..." My stupid brain can't find the word I'm looking for. This has been happening a lot lately. I forget what I'm talking about mid sentence. Sometimes, I have a harder time than usual remembering the word I mean to say. "You've never had someone cut into your skull. There are so many risks associated with complete removal surgeries, Sasuke. So damn many."

Sasuke's lower lip trembles and he stands abruptly so that I have to tilt my head all the way back to look at him. "Nara has only lost one patient, Naruto. One out of ninety-seven. And he's only had several patients experience minor difficulties after their surgeries. I swear to you..." I let my head fall back forward, not wanting to hear the rest of his speech, but his index finger hooks under my chin, brushes against my stubble, and tilts my face upwards. "You will be fine."

I swallow against a sob and am vaguely aware that my lashes are wet. Sasuke's eyes are wide and earnest. His brows are pinched together and he looks so tired, but so sure. "Kiss me," I breathe without thinking. A kiss isn't going to solve anything, isn't going to make my tumor magically disappear, but I want to be closer to him than we already are. 

He visibly swallows while glancing around the corridor we've started down. "Not here, Naruto."

"Please," I beg. The elevator that will take us to anesthesia precare is only fifty feet away. Once we get on it, I have a feeling meaningful emotion is going to go out the window, and right now, I want to feel something other than fear. 

Sasuke licks his lips and then he squats back down to me. "Will you promise to stop being bitchy if I kiss you?"

I chuckle, somewhat breathlessly. "Of course. Being the bitch is your job."

Sasuke smiles. He glances around again, presumably to make sure no one's watching, before he presses his lips to mine. Our kiss is chaste and closed-lip. It makes my mind as fuzzy as a more passionate kiss would, though. When we pull apart, I almost forget we're in a hospital. 

"You know," I say as Sasuke gets behind me to finish pushing me the rest of the way. "I like seeing you squat like that. After my surgery, I'd like to see you on your knees."

I don't have to look back at him to know he's probably blushing. 

"You're despicable," Sasuke laughs. 

"Only for you, Dr. Uchiha."

***

"Uzumaki. It's a pleasure to see you again. You, too, Uchiha," my anesthesiologist, Dr. Hyuuga says when he calls me back to prep me for my surgery. 

Sasuke's lips pull up at the corners, but his eyes don't light up or crinkle like they do when he's actually happy. When he picked me up for our date last week, he grinned at me as if I was his long lost best-friend. When he spoke of his older brother on the hills, he beamed like a baby on Christmas day. When he smiles at Dr. Hyuuga now, though, his eyes are hard and cold. He might as well be wearing a mask of a smile than attempting to look pleasant himself. 

I shudder.

"How are you today, Dr. Uzumaki?" Dr. Hyuuga asks as he approaches us and then, before I can react, he ushers Sasuke aside so he can take his position and push me. 

"I feel like shit--Hey! He can walk me back."

"Yes, he can," the long-haired man says patiently. He shoots a look back at Sasuke that I can't decipher. "But Dr. Uchiha has a lot of work to be doing right now. Isn't that right, Dr. Uchiha?"

"Hn. My position gives me the right to wander from my floor and duties as often as I please, Dr. Hyuga." Sasuke catches up and walks right beside me, even picks up his pace when Dr. Hyuuga tries to walk faster.

"Do you always speak so proudly of your ability to slack off, Dr. Uchiha? Better not speak like that so openly to everyone. Word might get out to Tsunade, and you might not find yourself in such a favorable position for too much longer."

Without thinking, I reach out for Sasuke's hand as it begins to curl into a fist, but just as my finger tips brush his knuckles, I pull away quickly. I am Sasuke's patient right now. Holding his hand would be unethical. And weird. 

"Do you need something, Dr. Uzumaki? Or are your motor functions more messed up than you've led us to believe?"

I frown, opening my mouth to spit out a lie, to say anything at all, but Sasuke beats me to the punch. "You will not be a dick to him, Neji." My heart drops and I want to sink into my chair. When Sasuke puts authority behind his voice, he really sounds scary. 

Neji falters in his stride for a second and is quiet. I imagine he's stewing in anger, absolutely livid that Sasuke's put his foot down. 

I want to add to that, stick up for myself, but Sasuke speaks before me again. "This man is having a critical surgery today and the last thing he needs is some pathetic anesthesiologist trying to have a dick measuring contest."

I think I actually hear Dr. Hyuuga grind his teeth. "You don't have to shit on my profession," he hisses. "I easily make more than you in a year. I actually work in the OR. You just sit around playing doctor all day while people like me do the real work."

"Yeah, because I'm not on-call for pediatric surgery every other week and I don't have damn near a million dollars stashed away in my bank account right now."

"I thought we weren't having a dick measuring contest, Dr. Uchiha."

My blood has gone cold. As Sasuke and my idiot anesthesiologist argue, we enter a small room with a bed, an EKG set up beside it, and an IV set up beside that. It's almost time.

"Just don't forget," Sasuke says as Neji rolls my wheelchair up beside the bed, "When something goes wrong in the operating room, it's the anesthesiologist who's blamed first. If anything happens to Naruto, I mean anything, I'll make sure you're the first to lose his license."

My legs are shaky as I climb out of my wheelchair and onto my bed. The room is dim because no one thought to turn the lights on, probably because Dr. Hyuuga and Sasuke are too busy seeing red. It's also hella cold in here, too.

"What is he to you anyways?" Dr. Hyuuga inquires, folding his arms across his chest and squinting at Sasuke. "Why do you care so much about this one patient?"

Sasuke tilts his head and scrunches his nose. "Fuck off."

"You're not the only one who can throw threats around, _Sasuke_. You enjoy slacking off and fucking your patients? The media would love to hear about that more than Konoha human resources."

Sasuke's scowl deepens. "You know what? You're dismissed. I'll brief someone else on Naruto's case and they can work with him today. Obviously, you're too wound up to do your job properly."

Neji snorts, not even upset that he's losing out on a shit ton of money for helping with my surgery. "Whatever. At least I do my job." With that, he walks out of the room as if he was just sent to get me coffee and not because he was just kicked off my operating team.

Sasuke glowers after him, hands balled into fists at his sides. His breathing is slower and deliberate as he tries to calm himself down. 

"Now who's going to put me to sleep?" I ask, voice wobbly. My head is starting to hurt. 

Sasuke's head snaps back at me and he looks surprised.

"What? Did you forget I was here or something?"

"Uh..No--I just..." He sighs. "Yeah. I'm sorry." 

"S'okay," I say, patting a spot beside me. 

Sasuke sits down and I rest my hand on his lap, continuing to pat, but this time to soothe. "He just pisses me off so much. How can someone who's such a dick work in healthcare and medicine? I just don't get it. If he hates people so much, why didn't he just stick to doing lab work or research? God." 

I shrug. "Some people are money hungry."

"But is working with people you don't like really worth it? If I couldn't stand the people on my operating team or my nurses, I'd find another hospital to work at, or I'd consider a new career entirely. Why would I stick around just to make everyone just as miserable as me?"

I shrug. Now that we're alone, I rest my head on his shoulder. He's warm and hard, and this feels nice. 

"I missed you," I say after a while. "I didn't hear from you all week. Thought you forgot about me."

Sasuke rests his temple on top of my head. "Well, I did call to let you know about my new patients." 

"Yeah, but you were so cold and informative. Told me what was up and then ended the call. Didn't even ask me how my day's been."

Sasuke sighs. "I have a problem with that, don't I?"

"Mm," I agree.

"How's your day been, Naruto?"

"Tiring. I think I had a seizure in the parking garage."

Sasuke stiffens. "Is that what you meant when you said you almost died?"

"Yeah."

He relaxes minutely. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Me, too. I'm glad you ran to see me. Must have freaked out some nurses. You probably made some of them think we were having a code blue or something."

Sasuke snickers.

"It wouldn't surprise them if we were, to be honest. Konoha's been having trouble with its speaker system lately. We had two code reds last week and only the people on the floor of the incident knew what was going on." 

"Yikes. Were the patients okay?" 

Sasuke nods. "Yeah, they were fine. We need to get the speakers fixed, though. Konoha really can't afford another law suit. When people come for this hospital, they come hard." 

That's understandable. When people sue large corporations, they try to sue for as much money as possible. "S'because they know Konoha is loaded...Did you say another law suit?" 

Sasuke hums his confirmation. "A man lost his wife in a car accident a few weeks ago. There was an eight car pile up. By the time the ambulance brought her to Konoha, she was gone. But her fiancee is arguing that she was alive when she got here and that we neglected to prioritize her care over the other ER patients in less critical condition because she's black." 

I sink into the bed a little. "Do you believe him?"

Sasuke shrugs. "I wasn't here. And even if I was..." He sighs. "I don't work ER, so I wouldn't have seen her." 

I lick my lips. "Do you think we have racist doctors who work here?"

The silence in the room has a pulse. I make sure to control my breathing, but race issues always upset me and now I have the strong urge to argue with someone, anyone. As someone who grew up in a predominantly urban area in the side of town where they were more black people and Hispanics than whites, and as someone who spent three years of college volunteering at urban public schools, I've witnessed more than my fair share of racism and colorism. God knows if I wasn't a doctor, I'd be a politician so I could try to fight institutionalized racism.

"There are racists everyone," Sasuke says at last.

"What a cheap answer."

Sasuke sits up and scoots away from me so he can look at me properly. "I'm serious. You do see the color of my skin, right?" He offers me a small grin. "I'm pretty Asian, if you can't tell. I've faced racism in undergrad, med school, residency, and even here. Sometimes by my co-workers and sometimes by my patients. Its everywhere."

"But do you think that woman was neglected by our ER doctors? The black woman?"

Sasuke sighs. "It depends on who was working that night. I'd have to see a list of the staff who clocked in to make a sure judgement. If I had to guess, though? I'd say no. The ER is different than internal medicine and the scheduled surgery teams. The ER staff shows genuine concern and professionalism to all their patients, and they work too fast to be judgmental. Yeah, they might say some offensive, prejudiced things off the clock. But while they're at work? For the most part, they all know to do what they've got to do to save as many lives as they can. They don't have the leisure to sit around and think about what patients they like and dislike in the ER. They can only work and, when there's a large accident like the one the woman who passed was involved in, they work fast and efficiently. Selflessly." 

I frown, but I don’t say anything more.

Sasuke pulls out his phone to text someone. Half an hour later, a petite Indian woman in pressed scrubs enters the room. Sasuke stands when he sees her, shakes her hand. "Thank you for coming in today," Sasuke says.

"It's my pleasure," the woman says. Then she faces me and beams. "Hi, Naruto. I'll be in charge of your anesthesia team and will be the only person administering your anesthetics during your surgery as well as your pain killer after your operation. I'm Dr. Sodhi." Her hand is warm and her grip is firm when she shakes my hand. "I apologize for Dr. Hyuuga's...behavior...from earlier." When her grin thins as she says his name, I wonder, damn, does anyone like that man?

Once we've gotten introductions over with, Sasuke and I brief her on my medical history while she goes over my chart. In another hour, she has me disrobe and change into a blue hospital gown. Sasuke and Dr. Sodhi leave the room for this and return once I'm dressed and shivering on the bed. Dr. Sodhi offers me a genuine smile as she inserts my IV. She has faith in Dr. Nara, too, then. 

This is it. _This is it_.

"Naruto, you haven't had any food or water since 12am this morning, correct?" Dr. Sodhi asks.

I nod. My heart is racing and I think I feel lightheaded. Belatedly, I wish to go home. 

"Good, good. I just received word that Dr. Nara is ready for you, so I'm going to insert your general anesthesia through your IV now. Do you have anything you'd like to say first?"

Wow, I feel like I'm on trial and being given the chance to persuade the jury before they congregate to decide my conviction.

I shake my head, but my eyes find Sasuke's. If something happens to me, if I become the second person Dr. Nara loses, what will I have wanted Sasuke to know? That he makes me happier than most people do nowadays? That I feel like he understands me, at least when it comes to our relationships with our patients and how we cope with our dealings with them? That I think he should consider biweekly counseling because, deep down, I worry about his coping mechanisms?

I sigh around slowing breaths. 

Sasuke's watching me with a blank expression, but when I reach for his hand, he grabs mine without hesitation. When I give his hand an unnecessarily harsh squeeze, he winces, but his mouth quirks upward into a small smile that borders reassurance, that would be reassuring if his eyes didn't betray him with the sudden worry they relay. 

I'm fucking petrified. I know Dr. Nara is good at what he does. I know Sasuke is looking out for me and wouldn't let me go through with this procedure if he thought I would come out scathed. This knowledge doesn't eradicate my fears, though. Neurosurgery is so tricky. That's why I didn't want to do it. If you make the slightest mistake, you can ruin someone's life. And their's family's. And their children's. If you mess up in neurosurgery, you can kill someone. 

As Sasuke squeezes my hand back, my vision gets blurry. With tears or with oncoming sleep, I don't know. Images of Kiba flash before my eyes for some reason. His stupid grin when he graduated from business school. How he came home high on cocaine after he made his first major trade deal. My heart beats slow, and my eyes flutter close, and the last thing I remember is that I hope Kiba's doing okay. 


	4. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naruto regains consciousness and spends the day with his old friend and his new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!!! I hope 2018 is full of personal growth, self-love, great relationships, and clear skin for you all! ^^
> 
> Sorry for all of the typos in the last chapter, you guys. I don't think I cringed more than re-reading chapter three and seeing how fucked up everything was. Thank you so much to those of you who left kudos and comments regardless of the mess that was that chapter. I appreciate it more than I can express. Also, there were some inconsistencies that I cleaned up. For example, in chapter one, Naruto has a flashback where he's talking to a "Dr. Yamanaka," however, he's not supposed to know who he is. :/ 
> 
> I've gone through and edited **a lot** , though. Changed a few scenes and added another thousand words.
> 
> Another issue I've been having with this story is I don't want to romanticize cancer. Romanticizing illnesses, whether they're mental or physical, is cruel to people who actually suffer from them. So while the entire plot of this story revolves around Naruto having a tumor, I don't want it to come off as cute or romantic in any way. 
> 
> And if you ever have any concerns with this story and how it's going, or if you just want to chat, I'm always on Tumblr (my username's the same there as it is here) ^^ 
> 
> Happy reading, guys!

I wake up to a splitting headache, feel as if someone’s swung an iron bat right into the back of my skull. One would have thought I’d be prescribed enough morphine to mask this kind of pain, but obviously Dr. Nara hates me.

The funny this is, while I was unconscious, I had a vivid dream that I was pleading to surgical instruments--of all things--to wake me up. However, now that I’m awake and feeling like shit, I just want to close my eyes and be numb again.

My room is nothing glamorous, just your average neuro intensive care unit room with comfy visitor chairs at the foot of my bed, a cardiac monitor to my right, a food tray to my left, and a wall-to-wall sliding door that’s also to my left but that’s mostly covered by a wine-colored curtain. Oh, and I can just barely make out a bunch of equipment set up on the wall slightly above and behind me. 

I’m still connected to my IV which doesn’t come as a shock, but I’m surprised that my throat is sore. Whoever was in charge of my endotracheal tube must not have been gentle when he or she inserted and removed it. 

Another surprise, but accepted blessing, is that the lights are off. I’ve heard rumors of Konoha turning patient’s lights on and off depending on the time of day so that their circadian rhythms won’t get too disturbed during their hospital stay. So when I told Nara that I’d like my lights to stay off until I request otherwise I didn’t expect him to actually listen to me. 

He must have been feeling generous after my surgery. Something must have gone wrong. 

A strained breath leaves me as I tense different muscles. My hand clenches fine, and my toes curl. I can lift my elbows, and the back of my thighs squeeze like normal. A strange mix of anxiety and relief runs through me.

I want to talk to someone now that I’m up, to be told how my surgery went and what my recovery plan is going to look like. I also want to talk to someone about how happy I am to be alive despite how shit my hair is going to look for the next month or so, and despite the fact that I probably won’t be able to walk right, or talk right, or even do my job properly for a few weeks…

I continue thinking about all the things I want to say to whoever will listen, and then I dream about the same topic. I’m completely unaware that I’ve fallen asleep until my eyes snap open as someone tall and muscular with a dark tan slides into the room. They’re wearing green scrubs and rolling a dynamap machine (the small square machine that sits atop a cart and reads blood pressures and temperatures) behind them, and they startle when they come bedside and see that I’m awake. 

“Good morning,” the man coughs out. He has smooth, clear skin, and round, expressive eyes. Said eyes flash to my head, my stitches, squint when he winces at those stitches, and then land back on my face apologetically.

I lick my lips while I decide whether I want to answer him or not. If I’m completely honest with myself, I’m afraid that I’m going to open my mouth and sound like I have a speech disability. Although the broca’s and wernicke’s areas are responsible for speech production and are nowhere near the cerebellum, I’m still afraid that there’s a chance my speech will have been impacted by my surgery in some way. 

My nurse clears his throat as he clips a pulse oximeter to my left index finger, and he strategically avoids eye contact with me when he wraps the blood pressure cuff around my bicep. Just before he can put the plastic-tipped thermometer into my mouth, I force myself to say something.

“I’m...thirsty.” My voice is raspy and my words come slow, like I’m talking around a spoonful of honey. This is to be expected, though, since I am heavily drugged. All in all, I still sound like me. I press my lips together to stop myself from smiling. 

The nurse, on the other hand, doesn’t seem that impressed that I can speak. Instead, he double-blinks as his face twists into an expression of bewilderment. Did they not tell him patients would act like normal people and would speak back to him in training? 

I try to quirk my brow up to him to say _Well?_ I don't think it moves, though.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll go get you some water now,” he mumbles.

Green Scrubs stumbles back and begins walking with his cart away from me even though I’m still hooked up to his machine. 

Damn, do I sound that scary? Do I look that scary? 

"Hey...hey!" I bark. I say bark because a shout would be louder and not as scratchy. 

"Shit, sorry," he cries while he rushes the machine back to me. 

I shake my head and close my eyes again. I’m really tired, feel like I’ve just run a 25K. 

"I can still get that water for you," he insists. 

“That’s okay,” I drawl, “finish my vitals first.” He shouldn’t try to do two things at once. Not with an icu patient, anyways. 

His brows furrow, he’s skeptical. Poor kid must be new or something. 

“I’m...a doctor. Finish my vitals.Then fetch me a water.” 

The nurse stares a few seconds more, clearly sizing me up, before he nods and returns to my bedside to remove the oximeter and cuff, and to place the oral thermometer in my mouth. For good measure, he also uses a forehead thermometer, and now I know he’s new. 

I want to spare him some trouble, tell him to forget about that water because I’m going to fall back asleep any minute now anyways. But when I blink, he and his dynamap are gone, the light’s on, and there’s a cup of water on the food tray beside me.

I’m reaching for the cup, half-way to it, when I hear someone say, “Nice to see you conscious, bro.”

“Fuck me!” I choke out, cringing into my bed. My head snaps to the foot of the bed where Kiba sits in one of the two large chairs down there, legs crossed, frowning. 

The shock gives way to overwhelming joy. My heart races and I have to ground myself, remember where I am, to stop myself from hopping out of this bed and running to him. I was just beginning to regret not telling my family about my surgery. Some omniscient force must have really felt sorry for me to send my favorite rugged friend my way.

Kiba snorts, sits up so that he can scoot his chair closer to me. He ends up perched beside the food tray which he pushes all the way against the wall. “Nice of you to let everyone know what the hell’s been going on, dick,” he says while sinking into his seat. 

I crack a weak grin at him. I should have known he’d be mad. If Kiba did this to me, had a major--or even a minor--surgery and didn’t tell me, I’d kill him. Still, I don’t want to try explaining myself to him now, so I try to be playful. “What ever do you mean?” 

He narrows his eyes and his face wrinkles into a dark scowl. “I’m not in the mood for jokes, Naruto. I get why you wouldn’t want to tell dad, but you couldn’t tell mom and me that you were going to have _surgery_ on your fucking _head_?”

I wince. So much for playful joking. “I...it’s not like I knew for a long time, Kiba.”

" _But you knew._ According to Sakura, you’ve known for almost two months!” He slaps his hand on the chair arm as he says this. 

I ignore his anger for a moment because Sakura’s back? And she knows I’m here? “Sakura’s back?” I spit out. That’s the fastest I’ve been able to say anything, and yet, even that comes out pretty slow.

Kiba scoffs and deflates in his chair. From this angle, he looks like a petulant child. “Yeah, she got back last night. Said she was bankrupt or some shit. You didn’t answer my question!”

I frown. “You didn’t ask a question,” I protest, wishing he would stop yelling. My head still hurts like it’s nobody's business, and I don’t need anyone unintentionally making it worse. “And why…” I take a deep breath. If I keep trying to talk two hundred words a second, I’m going to give myself an aneurysm. “Why wouldn’t she have told me she’s coming back?”

“Hell if I know,” Kiba growls. His scowl eases up, but his voice is just as pissy when he says, “I did ask you a question! Why didn’t you tell someone you were in here?”

Yeah, I really don’t want to be having this conversation with him right now. I have half a mind to tell him this, to tell him to either change the subject or to leave, when he says, “This s’about your pride, right? You can’t stand to see mom ‘n dad lookin’ at you like you’re anything less than their golden boy. So you go and bear all this shit on your own.” 

And he had the nerve to call me a dick. How much time did he have to think about this, to make the assumption that I kept this to myself simply to be imperious?

In an attempt to diffuse the growing tension in the room, I say, “Hey, I’m the psychiatrist. Leave your psychoanalysis to yourself!” 

But Kiba’s not having any of it today. “There. You. Go. You act like you have to have a degree to see through someone’s bullshit!”

My face gets hot all over. This isn’t what I wanted. Kiba is the last person I want to be fight with. I mean, I don’t want to fight anyone. But, theoretically speaking, if I had to choose someone to fight, Kiba would be the last person I’d think of next to old people and children.

Kiba sinks lower into his chair. If his face wasn’t so scrunched up in anger, I’d guess he was sulking after a mental breakdown.

“You don’t even bother to deny it,” he says, sounding defeated. “I thought better of you, Naruto.”

Better of me? He thought better of me? I’m not the one running around doing drugs and living my life as if I’m a video character who can never die!

“What if something happened? What if all this--” he gestures to my head “--was unsuccessful? How do you think I’d feel not being able to see you anymore?”

For the love of all that’s holy, I want this conversation to be over. I know what I did was shitty. I know I should have told my parents and Kiba as soon as I found out. I just didn’t want to worry them. And, also, it’s not like I went through my appointments and worries alone before I had my surgery. Gaara knew. As did my other co-worker from Suna, Asuma. 

And although neither of them were too involved in my situation, they still texted me words of support. 

“But nothing happened, Kiba,” I tell him through tight lips. “Here I am. Perfectly fine.” I lift my left arm up and wave it wildly, but I grunt and have to drop it when a sharp pain shoots down my arm and up my spine. 

Kiba watches me curl in on myself with an air of indifference. When I straighten up, he sits up, too. “Fine. You’re off the hook for now. But don’t think your dad won’t light into you for being an idiot.”

“That’s...a bridge I’ll have to cross when I come to it. So how’ve things been for you?”

We get caught up, keeping our voices low and unexcited. My migraine doesn’t lessen, though, so I call a nurse in for medication, tell her to give me an oxycodone instead of more morphine. She seems reluctant, but cooperates, brings me half of my recommended dose. Which is alright with me. I don’t want to pass out on Kiba.

Once I’m medicated and my migraine gradually reduces, he tells me about this girl he met during a charity gala in Haiti who he thinks is the one, and about a deal he’s made with Apple to have his app featured in advertisements for six months. I tell him about my co-workers, promotion, and, eventually, Sasuke. 

“Another man?” Kiba asks. “I thought you were straight now. Why do you keep going back and forth?”

I frown. “I’m bi, dude. You know this.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t had a boyfriend around since we were kids.”

“Early twenty year-olds don’t count as kids, Ki. And who said anything about a boyfriend? Sasuke and I are just friends.”

He gives me a look. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

“Until he gets tired of me,” I joke. 

Kiba laughs. “Or until you find out he’s bad in bed.”

I manage to sit up on my elbows. “What makes you think he’ll be bad in bed?” I’m ashamed of how serious I sound. 

“He was your valedictorian, right? And a teacher’s pet in med school? The only action he must have been getting was through an expertly cut hole in a watermelon.”

I choke, snort, and lay back down. “Some teacher’s pets need to know how to give good head, though.” I know I’m going to regret talking like this, especially since Sasuke’s involved. This is how I talk with Kiba, though. And it’s not like we’re purposefully trying to be offensive.

Kiba looks confused. “For what?”

“For good grades!” I roll my eyes. “You act like you’ve been out of school for fifty years.”

“Ten,” he corrects. 

“Whatever. Sex doesn’t matter that much to me, anyways. He could be a premium pornstar, but if he was an asshole, I wouldn’t want to be with him.”

Kiba perks up as a wild grin spreads across his face. “Ohh, so you want to be with him now?”

“Shut it!” I snap. When he wags his eyebrows at me, I reach behind my head for a pillow, lazily grip it because I can’t feel much, and toss it at him. Kiba catches it and laughs.

“Wait until you’re not drugged out of your mind to attack me,” he says around his laughter.

I chuckle. “Yeah, okay.” 

We settle down and my eyelids grow heavy shortly after. Kiba’s picking up his jacket and readjusting his chair when he fixes me with a strange look, something akin to concern. “When can I tell mom and dad that you’re here? You know the longer you wait, the more upset they’re going to be when you tell them, right?”

I nod. “I know. I’ll call them tonight.” Do I really plan on giving them a call? I don’t know. Probably. Kiba seems to get this. 

He nods to himself. “Good. And, hey--uh...how long are you supposed to be in here?”

I lift my shoulder and let it fall, a shrug. “Dunno. Dr. Nara said two to five days. I haven’t spoken with him since before I was put under, though. Or any doctor for that matter. It’s like the nurses don’t want to tell anyone I’m up.”

Kiba winces. “Probably because I’m here. I’ll get goin’ then, and I’ll make sure a doc comes to see you before I hit the elevator.”

I grin at him. “Thanks, Kiba. And thank you for coming to see me. I really needed this.”

He grins back at me. “For my bro? Anytime.”

He pulls the curtain and the sliding door until they’re both a foot or two from the wall. 

***

Over an hour passes before Dr. Nara pokes his head inside. I don’t know what he's expecting to see, if my eyes are still open, maybe. When we make eye contact, he makes a startled sound and comes in. That’s the second person I’ve scared today. Makes me want to crawl out of this bed and find the nearest mirror. 

“Naruto, I’m glad to see you awake,” he drones, wearing a neutral, polite smile. Dr. Nara, for as tired as he sounds, has the best skin of any person I’ve ever met. No bags are under his eyes, his brunette hair is thick and shiny, and I’ve yet to see a pimple or redness mar his face. 

I yawn, try to smile back. “You, too. I’m glad you’re awake, too.”

He raises a brow at that, but continues as if I haven’t said anything. “I guess you want the good news first. Your surgery went well. Your tumor has been completely removed.”

Damn, he didn’t give me a chance to brace myself. And now that I know for sure everything has gone well, how do I wrap my head around that? My tumor’s been removed. So all the problems I had before, my dry skin, the seizures, the trouble walking, swallowing, and more...they’re all going to be gone now. I swallow, just out of reflex, revelling in the way my esophagus can properly open and close.

Just because the problematic symptoms of my tumor are gone, however, doesn't mean I won't be left with symptoms of recovering from the removal surgery. That thought alone puts a bad taste in my mouth and dread in my chest. The battle will never be over. 

“So…” My eyes trail off to the ceiling. “What’s the bad news then?” If the tumor is gone, there can’t possibly be any bad news. My life is back. I can be me again. Or, as much as me as possible around--what were the symptoms of recovering from craniotomies again? God, I can't think right now.

Dr. Nara clears his throat. “The bad news, it's not really 'bad', per se, just not something you’ll want to hear.” I squint at him, suspicious, and he folds his arms across his chest, defensive. “First, I’d like to keep you here for the full five days. Just to be safe. Then, I’d like to discuss home care with you. It might be beneficial for you to move back in with your parents or into a nursing home for a bit of time. Just until you finish your physical therapy.”

I make an effort to control my breathing, to stay calm. “O..kay.” How is this bad news? He must not be telling me everything. Unless he says I will never finish my physical therapy, or that I won't be able to return to work until I finish it, I don’t see the problem at all. “How long will I have to do the therapy for?”

Nara doesn’t hesitate. “Four to eight weeks, maybe longer. Six weeks is standard.”

“So I’ll have to live with my parents for six weeks. Fine then.” That’s definitely not a problem. Hell, once I tell them I just had a tumor removed, they won't want me out their sight for a good deal of time anyways, so I might as well make their ordeal of watching me like a hawk easier for them by staying with them.

“When can I go back to work?” I ask.

Dr. Nara isn’t so quick to answer me now. He averts his dark eyes to my cardiac monitor and focuses them there. He also tightens his arms across his chest. It'd be easier for him to cut himself out from this conversation with a knife. 

“C’mon, man. You told Tsunade two weeks.” I’m getting whiny, but I can’t help it. In all technicalities, I’m high. Also, I’m fucking tired. He couldn’t have waited another day to stress me out? Or, better yet, he couldn’t have stuck to his word? 

Nara swallows a few times, as if what he has to say is harder for him, the messenger, and not harder for the person who's going to have to live through this, whatever this recovery plan of his is. “You’ll need to do occupational therapy as well, Naruto. We like to do PT and OT separately. You know this.” 

I don’t think I’ve ever lost respect for someone so fast before in my entire life.

“ _No,_ ” I tell him, voice firm and unforgiving. “Two weeks. I’m not waiting one or two months to finish physical therapy just to start another month of occupational! That’s...that’s not fair. You know that’s not fair.” 

He sighs, finally looks back at me. He doesn't look sorry, though. Just irritated. As if he’s an actor and has had to say this line too many times now. “I know, and I’m sorry. I was afraid that if I said you wouldn’t be able to return to work sooner…”

He thought I wouldn’t go through with the surgery. “So you lied to me.”

He inhales sharply. “I didn’t _lie_. Some patients do recover completely after two weeks.”

I scowl at him. “Patients of what? Proximal interphalangeal joint arthroplasty?”

“You’re not that naive, Naruto! You couldn’t have possibly believed you’d be up and running several days after having a craniotomy. You _must_ know your neurons don’t heal that way!”

He’s out of breath and so am I. We’re heated. I’m pissed at him for giving me hope, and he’s pissed at me for taking it. 

“Fuck you,” I choke out at last. “Fuck you and fuck this stupid fucking hospital.” My lashes are wet and a few traitorous tears blur my vision, are probably sliding down my cheeks.

Dr. Nara sobers up as if he’s just been doused by a bucket of ice water. “I’m not the one you should be mad at.”

My lips mash together. “Oh, that’s rich! So I should be mad at god then? Or my brain for letting some rouge tissue invade it’s space? You--” I break into a coughing fit all of a sudden. My throat burns and I have to reach for one of those cardboard-like tissues kept on my food tray to cough into. Yellow phlegm. Just what I want to see. 

“No, Dr. Uzumaki, that’s not what I mean. I--I’m sorry for getting you worked up. Please calm down.” Nara hesitates and then he takes a few steps toward me to pat me on the back maybe, make sure i've coughed all the phlegm up. Or maybe he wants to place his ugly hand on my shoulder, give me a strong squeeze and tell me I'll make it through. He must have me mistaken for some other patient in this hospital if he thinks I could stand to be touched right now.

When his hand's less than a couple of inches from me (yeah, he was going for the shoulder), I throw my tissue at him. It hits him right in his coat pocket and then falls to the floor. Immature, I know, but what else could I have done to show him he’s the last person I want near me?

“Naruto!” Dr. Nara yells as he flinches away from me, disgusted. 

I’m crying for real now. He has no right to be upset. This is all his fault. Getting my hopes up, lying to me and Tsunade, and even to Sasuke. “Calm down? How? My whole life has been hijacked! My job is all I have and you’re taking it away from me!”

“I’m not taking anything! Naruto, I want to help you!” 

“But you don’t. You want Dr. Yamanaka to take my position! You want me to fail! You...you could easily keep your word and let me come back in two weeks! Look at my medical history--I’m a strong person! I’ve gone to work with colds and flus, in casts for broken bones, on Vicodin”--Nara looks incredulous-- “Even after I got in that messy car accident last year!”

His face is hardening. He’s forming a resolve. But for what? A resolve to be a shittier person? “Calm down. You're getting hysterical, kid.”

That’s the last straw. “Get out of my room, you patronizing bastard!” I shout. If I could have screamed, I probably would have.

He mutters something under his breath that sounds like _code violet_ or maybe _that’s it_ before he storms out of my room. I’m left with blessed silence for only a few seconds before a nurse comes in with a syringe. Are you kidding me?

“No,” I tell her as she comes bedside. “Please, I’m not dangerous! I’m not! He just pissed me off! Please!”

“Mr. Uzumaki, you’re hysteric. All this stress won’t be good for your recovery. We just want you to relax and be at peace for a few hours.”

She’s right about the stress; I’m bawling like a baby. But I can’t make myself stop. Everything is wrong. This is all fucked up. This is not how things are supposed to be. “It’s Dr,” I cry as she positions her needle.

I won’t push her away. I won’t fight her. Fighting will only make things worse, will result with me getting restrained. 

“There, there,” she whispers. “Take a deep breath. Breath in...good. Now, exhale.” When I do, she inserts the syringe and gently injects me with a sedative. “I’ll check in on you in a few hours,” is all I hear before a whooshing sound fills my ears and the corners of my vision darken. 

I watch the nurse shut off my light and close my curtain. When she closes the door, I’m out. 

 

***

 

“...Didn’t know he could be so stupid…” Sasuke.

“Yeah? Well you don’t know him like I know him.” And Kiba?

“And how, pray tell, do you know him?”

“I’m his brother.”

“Is that so? You look nothing alike.”

“Adopted!”

“He’s my best friend,” I croak. My eyes are slow to open, and when they do, I see Kiba is sitting in the guest chair with his sock-clad feet propped against my bed, and Sasuke is standing a little ways beside him, in joggers and a sweater. 

We make eye contact, Sasuke and I, and he looks disappointed. 

“Nara...he isn’t planning on letting me return to work for months,” I explain. 

“Maybe that’s for the best, bro,” Kiba pipes up. But he doesn’t understand. 

“Please, tell me you’ll talk to him,” I beg. “You understand, don’t you? Work is all I have. I can’t just do nothing for months!” My throat feels like crusty feet against carpet. If I continue forcing myself to talk through the ache, I’m not going to be able to talk at all tomorrow. 

Sasuke looks away from me, sighs, but he doesn’t say anything. I notice his shoulders keep tensing, probably wouldn't have if his sweater wasn't so tight. With his tensing and defensive stance, I wonder if he's closing himself off from me the way Nara was earlier. The idea makes sweat.

Kiba looks between Sasuke and I, can sense the tension in the room. “But you will be doing stuff, bro. You won't be bored or anything. You'll be doing therapy stuff. Your favorite kind of stuff. 'Xcept this time, the therapy will be physical. And it'll be on you." 

I scowl at him, but he continues. "And you’ll be living with mom. Y’know she’ll keep you busy. You can help her cook and--”

“Yeah, that’s not helping,” I snap. “And what about my patients?”

Sasuke shifts uncomfortably. “They’ve been seeing a new psychiatrist for two weeks already. They can manage...another six to eight weeks.”

I shake my head. “But I told them I’d be back soon. Six weeks or longer is not soon, Sasuke!”

Kiba whips his head around. His eyes suddenly grow dangerously wide. “You’re Sasuke? I thought you said you were his doctor.”

I scowl at him. “Kiba, not now!”

Sasuke’s brows are raised, though, his curiosity’s been piqued. “You’ve heard of me?”

Kiba grins at me, dark and evil, and then he smiles lovingly at Sasuke. “Oh, yes. I have. Naruto left out important bits and pieces of information, though. Didn't say anything about you bein' the one to dig around his brain.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s my oncologist, Kiba.”

“Not the one who did the surgery then?”

“No, that would have been the neurosurgeon, Dr. Shikamaru Nara.” I say his name like you would a criminal's, a rapist's.

“So you’re dating your oncall’gist, then?”

Sasuke coughs behind a fist and then says,“No, no, we’re not dating. Just friendly with each other.”

“Friendly enough to fuck?”

“We haven’t been doing any fucking!” I shout. 

Sasuke’s face lights up a deep coral. His eyes dart from Kiba to me and back. “Naruto, what have you been saying about me?” He doesn’t sound offended or upset or scared. Just genuinely curious. 

I groan. “I just brought you up in conversation and Kiba got carried away. That’s all.”

“Hn.” Sasuke doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go. “Why did you cuss Nara out?” 

I laugh sheepishly. “About that...I didn’t cuss him out, not really. I just...got over-whelmed?”

Sasuke sighs and shakes his head. “Do we need to go over some coping mechanisms?”

Beside him, Kiba snickers. He loves when people go all therapist on me. 

“Nope, all I need is to go home. And some water. My throat is dryer than a dryer sheet.”

Sasuke makes a face. "That sounds...unpleasant. I'll get you something warm from down stairs."

"Don't take too long," I call after him. 

“He’s pretty average,” Kiba says when he leaves. “You can do better than that, dude.”

If I roll my eyes again, they’re going to get stuck in the back of my head. “He’s gorgeous to me. And for the last time, I don’t consider being with someone just because they’re attractive or might be good in bed. Relationships are more than that. Maybe if you treated your ex like she was worth more than helping you blow a load, you guys would still be together.”

Kiba sticks his tongue out at me, and I repeat the gesture back at him. 

"What do you think Sakura will make of him?"

"Sakura?" I ask, dumbfounded. "What does it matter what she thinks? He's my friend, not her's." 

Kiba props his elbow up on his armchair and rests his chin on his hand. "She is your best friend. Won't you care if she decides she doesn't like your new fling?" 

I roll my eyes. "I don't have flings, Kiba. That's you. And you're my best friend." 

"I'm your brother." 

I laugh. "Fine. She's my best friend. So tell me how she told you I'm here." I sit up a little. "Did you see her in person?" 

Kiba purses his lips, toying with me. 

"C'mon!" 

"Yeah, I saw her in person. Whatcha' gonna give me if I tell you where she is?" 

I start to reach for another pillow, but Kiba yells in protest, claiming he doesn't want me to hurt myself again. 

"Then stop with your creepy business tactics and tell me what I want to know." 

Kiba rolls his eyes. "Okay, okay, crybaby. She'll be staying with mom and dad for the week. Says she's looking for an apartment, but it's hard for her to find something in her low ass price range." 

I groan. Living with my parents. Poor Sakura. "Tell her to...to come back to the hospital then." I slow myself down, try to ward off another migraine and a more sore throat. "She can have her old job back." 

"Yeah, buddy, I don't think jobs work that way. Just because people hand shit to you willynilly doesn't mean that's how getting a job in the real world works." 

I make a face. "She was good at being a psychiatrist, though. A nurse from the psych ward told Gaara that their floor isn't the same without her." 

"That's hearsay." 

"Oh, so you're a lawyer now?" 

Sasuke returns then. He hands me a cup of hot water with added lemon to it, smiles as he does so. I smile back at him. 

“Hey. Doctor,” Kiba yells, kicking at my bed so we’ll pay attention to him. "What do you think of hot strawberry blondes running around telling people what to do?" 

Sasuke doesn't look away from me for a second. "Why would I care?" 

"Sakura's back," I tell him. "My friend I told you about. She's back. But Kiba doesn't think she'll like you." 

Sasuke laughs awkwardly. "Why would she have to like me, though?" 

"Exactly. And don't worry. She'll love you. You're just her type." 

"Oh?" 

"Speaking of types. Doctor. Are you sure you want to be with someone missing half a head of hair?" 

Sasuke and I sigh.

***

That night, when visiting hours are over, Sasuke returns to my room. He starts for the chair, but when I pat on my bed, he comes to sit beside me. 

“I haven’t gone to the restroom at all today,” I tell him once he’s seated. “Is that normal?”

Sasuke leans back on his palms and his left hand grazes my knee. As he gazes up at me through his eyelashes, not demure, just tired, he says, “Yeah. You’d be surprised how long it takes some recovering patients to have a bowel movement.”

I blush. “But...I haven’t gone number one either.”

Sasuke raises a brow at that. “Number one? What are you, four?” 

I sigh. “You know what I mean.”

He nods. “I do. That’s...pretty common, too. You haven’t been drinking a whole lot of fluids today, have you?”

“Nope. I mostly sleep or make the nurses talk to me when they walk past.”

Sasuke snickers. “You’re a nuisance.”

“Not as much as Kiba. I’m sorry about what he said earlier. That wasn’t cool.”

Sasuke shrugs. “Didn’t bother me. I thought he was funny.”

“Really?” I grin.

“Mmhmm. You gonna ask me how long you’ve been asleep now?”

I perk up, reach over to push his shoulder. “How long?”

Sasuke grins crookedly. “Two and a half days. The nurses said you woke up once or twice, but that you were totally out of. Tried talking with your endotracheal in and everything. You woke up on me, once, too, when I was up here during a break. Just stared at me, though.” Sasuke laughs. God, that sound.

“That’s...awkward,” I say after imagining me just watching the poor guy.

“It was fine. I’m glad you’re conscious now. Had me worried for a moment.”

I relax into the bed, truly let myself be comfortable and in the moment for the first time today. Sasuke stares off across the room, so I let my hand snake on the bed towards his. When I place my hand on top of his, without looking back at me, he flips his hand upward and gives mine a small squeeze. 

“You were right, you know? Everything went well.” Sasuke inhales a shaky breath. “You can breathe now.”

I squeeze his hand and he gives me a suspicious look before he purses his lips and loudly inhales and exhales through his nose. 

“There. Feel better?”

He tilts his head back, eyes clear and curious. “How’d you know I was upset?”

“You’ve been tense since this afternoon,” I say as if it’s obvious. “And more standoffish. I figured you weren’t feeling too good.”

The corner of his lips lift. “You’re very observative,” he remarks. 

I roll my eyes. “I wonder why.”

He snickers again. I love the sound. It’s not as innocent as his laugh, sounds more real, more conspiratorial, like we’re forming secrets here in this room and he’s relishing in it. Okay, maybe I’m getting carried away. I think I just like the sound of Sasuke being happy.

We fall into a lull. My hand gets warm fast, what with my body submerged beneath two blankets and a sheet, but I don’t bother to pull away. Neither does Sasuke. 

“How’re you spines?” I ask him after some time. It doesn’t don on me until now that the light in my room is still off. Or that I’ve said something I’m about to regret.

“My...what?”

“Your spines. Your patients with the intramedullary tumors.”

Sasuke snatches his hand from mine with a speed I wouldn’t have deemed him capable of possessing as he whirls on me. I cringe hard into the bed as he scowls at me, full-on. I’ve never been on the other side of his anger before, only of his patience, kindness, and sometimes sorrow. He reminds me of a tiger at the zoo when kids won’t stop tapping on the glass. Quick, almost impulsively, he turns and smacks down on the glass with a force that, for a moment, you fear might break it.

His slap is his glare and the glass is our friendship. 

“ _They are people_ ,” he says in a low, cold voice. “They are not _spines_ , they are two kids are scared out of their minds, whose families can’t answer their questions, who depend on me to give them false hopes. _Don’t_ try to dehumanize them again.” 

My migraine returns full force when I jerkily nod my head multiple times. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

Sasuke scoffs, stands. His hands are balled up at his sides and I can tell he’s trying to calm himself down.

“Sasuke, I’m sorry,” I say again. And I mean it. 

“I know,” he whispers. “Let me go get some tea...I’ll be back.” He heads for the door. I feel my throat closing up like something inanimate has been swallowed and got stuck. I’m ninety percent sure I’m going to cry, not because I necessarily want to but because this medication is making me more emotional than normal. If Sasuke yelled at me like that when I wasn’t high, there’s a great chance that I’d yell back whether I was in the wrong or not. 

Sasuke pauses in the threshold, outlined in light. He tilts his ear my way, but he doesn’t turn to face me. “Do you want anything from the cafeteria?”

“Yeah,” I croak. Sasuke winces, and I wish I could tell if he does this because he didn’t want me to reply, or because I sound so sick. “I’m hungry.”

He deflates then, shoulders lowering from his ears, and he turns to look at me now. His face is lax and he looks like his usual tired self. “Do you think you can handle some soup and veggies?”

Now that I’m thinking about food, my stomach rumbles and anything sounds good. He could offer me day-old bread and I’d take it. “Soup sounds great. And some fruit. Maybe strawberries?”

“Soup and strawberries. Sounds like a god awful combination, but okay. I’ll bring you up beef.” His smile is watery when he says this, and I remember that he’s vegetarian, or vegan, or something weird like that. 

My smile is hard and tight-lipped. “Lovely.”

***

Sasuke apologizes when he returns. I tell him not to worry about it, that I was out of line, but he says he shouldn’t have reacted the way he did. We both agree he needs a day off. 

“You should call off for tomorrow. Spend the day with me.”

“And risk getting a warning? No, thank you.”

I frown. “This hospital loves you. There’s no way they’ll hold calling off for a single day against you.”

“You don’t know Konoha that well then. Requesting off a few hours in advance? That’s not going to fly here.”

“Well…” He’s right. “Make sure you’re eating well, then. And exercise.”

“Oh, yes,” Sasuke agrees. “I haven’t been to the gym in weeks.”

I snort. “I can tell.”

He scowls at me, playfully this time. I flinch nonetheless. 

Sasuke notices and sighs. “I should get going….”

I almost knock my food tray over when I reach for his wrist with both of my hands. “Please stay. I get lonely in here.”

“You have your nurses.”

“But I want you.”

He freezes, but can’t stay that way for long because I’m pulling on him again. “Just for another ten minutes. Stay?”

“Eat your food,” Sasuke grumbles, but he sits beside me again. 

“Thank you.”

***

I get drowsy once I finish my soup. My sense of taste has been renewed. This soup, which would have needed seasoning for me pre-surgery is too salty for me now. Sasuke offers to get me something else, but I tell him not to worry. I’m going to fall asleep soon. 

He stretches back on my bed so that his head rests by my hip and his legs fall off the end. “Are the strawberries alright, at least?” 

“Yep,” I breathe. “Nice and juicy.”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s not quite a laugh. “Wonderful.”

When I yawn, Sasuke gazes up at me. He looks oddly tender, like he’s watching a puppy sleep and not me shoving food into my mouth. 

I look down at him as well and take notice of his thick lashes that shoot out rather than curl up, and of his thin top lip. Sasuke’s jawline is soft, and his cheekbones are high. His skin looks more sallow in this lighting, reminding me that I want to talk to him about his health sometime soon. Not now, of course. I’m not sure how he’ll take a full-blown psychoanalysis from me. Maybe I wouldn’t have to analyze him, though. I could just ask him a few questions here and there, gauge his reactions, and then offer him advice.

My eyes flicker downward again and catch Sasuke’s, like a speck of pollen might catch and cling to a strand of someone’s hair. And the realization that I want to hold him, or that I want him to hold me, that I just want to be near to him, hits me like a swarm of gnats. 

I swallow hard, try to process this. I don’t love him, no. But I care about him. Quite a bit. And I want him to care about me. 

“Naruto,” Sasuke whispers. I like the way he says my name. I want him to hear him chant it, in a different place, in a different bed.

“Yeah?” I’m breathless, would be panting if I didn’t keep telling myself _this is a hospital. You are in the icu. Don’t do anything rash._

He moves quick, rolls out of the bed and grabs his coat off the curtain rod. “I’m going to leave now.” 

“That would be a smart decision.” I’m reluctant to admit this, but we could get in a shitload of trouble if I don’t. 

Sasuke takes a few deep breaths, composes himself. “I’ll stop by around twelve tomorrow to discuss your PT and OT. Also, I think we should do an MRI before you leave. And an X-ray. It’s improbable that your tumor could have spread, but I like to be safe.”

“Mm’kay,” I mumble. Bringing up my therapies has killed my mood. I want to rest now, with no visitors to distract me.

“And Naruto?”

“Yes?”

“Please try not to worry about things out of your control.”


End file.
